Pas De Deux
by Icewyche
Summary: A rhythm-impaired Ronin meets a feisty ballerina with a passion for salsa dancing...and learns a lesson in love. Language and implied sex. Completed! YAY!!! Feedback always welcome!
1. Prelude

                                              **Pas de Deux**

**By Icewyche**

**_  Author's Note:_**  _Pas de deux_ is a ballet term.  Translated from the French, it means "step (or dance) for two".  In classical ballet, it is usually the climactic duet for the hero and heroine of the story (i.e., Sleeping Beauty and the Prince), and traditionally involves five parts: the prelude or _entrée;_ the slower, romantic _adagio_; variations for the male and the female; and the _coda_, where both dance together.  I've always thought this was a good way to describe a courtship, too.  As for the other dance terms in the story, see the Terminology section at the end of each chapter, or check your local library.

_Disclaimer:_  I don't own Ronin Warriors.  Sunrise does.  Don't sue me.

                                                           **Part One: Prelude**

_The best stories always begin with, Once upon a time…_

      "Sage.  You busy?"

      Sage Date looked up from the sheaf of papers he was poring over, shoving his blonde hair away from his face.  "Oh --- hi, Matsuka.  I've got your reservations made for the Osaka trip next month.  And Mr. Yoyomani called and needs to reschedule his meeting with you --- says he has a 'family emergency', which knowing him probably means he got busted on a DUI again.  You'd think the guy would learn to lay off the beer by now, especially when a major gallery wants to show his work."

      Matsuka Kazuhara felt her lips twitch at Sage's no doubt accurate appraisal of the beleaguered Geniro Yoyomani.  The man was an extremely talented sculptor --- when he was sober, which unfortunately wasn't often.  "I have a proposition for you."

      Sage raised an eyebrow.  "Matsuka-san, I've never thought of you that way, I swear.  Besides, wouldn't your husband object?"

      "Very funny," Matsuka scolded, but she couldn't help a small tingle of feminine delight.  Sage was, after all, an extraordinarily handsome young man.  Twenty-three years old, Sage had the golden hair, violet eyes, and fair complexion of his American father combined with the delicate features of his Japanese mother.  The result was an exotic look that had women throwing themselves at him --- much to her serious young assistant's dismay, Matsuka thought with amusement.  She herself was happily married, but still --- _if I were thirty years younger,_ she thought.  "You know the Kazuhara Gallery is one of the major sponsors for the National Ballet Theater's anniversary gala.  As part of that, I'm invited to the ballet on Saturday, and the VIP reception afterward, and I can bring a guest.  My husband can't make it that night, so I thought you might enjoy going with me."

      "Me?"

      "Why not?  You're my executive assistant, you know how to handle important people, and you enjoy cultural events.  I think you would be an excellent representative for the gallery.  Besides, think of it as a career move.  After all, who knows who you might meet at this gala?"

      "And who knows what kind of gossip might start when Matsuka Kazuhara, patroness of the arts, shows up with her assistant as escort?" Sage replied dryly.  

      Matsuka laughed.  "I will be the most envied woman in the room," she said, only half-joking.  "Sage, I'm not making a pass at you, I just don't like going to these functions by myself.  So why not take someone with me who's well-mannered, can actually appreciate what's going on, and looks damned good in black tie to boot?"

      Sage raised his eyebrows.  "I thought you said you weren't making a pass at me."

      "Sage, I may be an old woman, but I'm not blind," Matsuka told him.   "So --- Saturday night at Horoshi Center.  The ballet starts at eight, so I'll meet you there around seven."

      "And what if I had plans that night?" Sage said, amused by Matsuka's full-speed-ahead efficiency.

      Matsuka gave him a piercing look.  "And do you?"

      "Well…no," Sage admitted sheepishly.

      "All right, then.  Dress is formal, and don't be late.  Now, when did Mr. Yoyomani say he could meet with me?"

~~~~

      "So what exactly are we going to be seeing?"  Sage asked on Saturday night as he met Matsuka outside Horoshi Center.

      "The National Ballet Theater is performing _Don Quixote_. They're one of the top ballet companies in Japan.  I hear the lead ballerina is quite good," Matsuka replied.  They walked into the theater lobby and a uniformed usher handed them both programs.

      Sage flipped idly through the glossy booklet.  "Let's see…says here the female lead is being danced by somebody named Carey Navarro.  Well, I think it's safe to say she's an imported talent."

      Matsuka turned to the dancer biographies.  "It says she was born and raised in Miami, Florida, studied with the Miami Civic Ballet and the New York City Ballet.  She moved here a year ago, has a B.A. in Dance, and was promoted to principal dancer just this past summer."  She studied the accompanying photo.  "She's quite a pretty girl." 

      Sage turned to the page Matsuka indicated.  The small black-and-white headshot showed a young woman of about Sage's age with dark hair and a winsome smile.  In fact, Sage decided as he studied the photo, she looked as if she were secretly amused about something.  He didn't know why, but he liked that.

      The ballet began a few minutes after eight, and Sage found himself greatly enjoying it.  The plot bore almost no resemblance to the Cervantes novel, centering more on a pair of lovers trying to outwit the girl's father, but it was lighthearted, funny, and charming.  The dancers were indeed excellent and drew a great deal of applause, especially the two leads, Toshiro Hamada and Carey Navarro as the young lovers Basil and Kitri.  

      Sage found his eyes especially drawn to Carey Navarro.  She displayed a speed, lightness, and agility far beyond anything he'd ever seen.  Her leaps defied gravity, her turns were dazzling, and she could hold a balance on pointe forever.  But more than that, Sage decided, she danced with a spirit and a fire that lit up the stage whenever she was on it.  _She enjoys her work,_ he thought.  _No, more than that --- she _loves _it._  He was actually disappointed when the curtain finally fell and the ballet was over.

      Matsuka looked like a little girl who had just been to the zoo.  "That was spectacular," she bubbled as they made their way to the exit.  "Those two lead dancers were absolutely wonderful.  You know, I've been thinking --- what about doing an exhibit of ballet costumes?  We might need something to replace the Yoyomani exhibit.  Maybe we could even get those two dancers to model for the catalog shots."

      Sage laughed.  "One step at a time, Matsuka.  We might meet them at the reception, so maybe you can broach the subject then.  Yoyomani's not a complete loss, is he?"

      Matsuka snorted in annoyance.  "Not yet, but I really get tired of waiting for him to sober up enough to demonstrate his genius.  And besides, we've done sculpture before.  But textile art --- that's always different."  She smiled.  "This gala really _was_ a good idea."  

      The reception was at a nearby hotel.  Sage lost track of all the people he was introduced to --- lawyers, doctors, and business tycoons, accompanied by their glossy, brittle wives or their giggling, empty-headed "companions".  The men nodded to him politely and went back to talking business.  The women eyed him as if he were a particularly tempting dessert, and one even came on to him rather blatantly, even though her husband was across the room.  A DJ played various popular songs, and the constant rush of chatter left him feeling somewhat overwhelmed.  Suddenly he had a strange yearning to be home, in the quiet sanctuary of his apartment, away from the gossip and deal-making and superficial politeness.  He stood by the window nursing a mineral water and wondered how soon he could make his excuses to Matsuka.

      A stir of excitement from the dance floor caught his attention.  The crowd of people moved back and Sage saw a couple in the middle of the floor, dancing expertly to a Latin song.  Both were dark-haired and slender, the man in a tuxedo, the woman in a clingy black-and-red dress that showed off long, beautifully shaped legs.  He recognized them as the lead dancers from the ballet.  

      They moved around the floor with a sequence of quick footwork, then the man whirled his partner out and back like a human yo-yo.  She swiveled around him with a distinctly come-hither attitude.  They moved apart, then together, back and forth in a dance that was equally a seduction and a battle of the sexes.  It was, Sage thought, sexy but not vulgar. Then the woman spun and plunged into a backward freefall.  The man caught her easily, her back parallel to the floor.  The music ended and they grinned at each other as the crowd applauded.  For just a brief moment, the young woman looked up; her eyes met Sage's and he felt an odd shiver of recognition.  Then another song came on and Sage lost sight of her as the crowd moved back onto the floor.

      "Well," Matsuka said beside him.  "That was certainly impressive."

      "You know them?"

      "I was introduced to them earlier --- I think you were trapped by Dr. Hashimoto's wife.  They're the two that danced earlier tonight, Navarro and Hamada."  Matsuka smiled absently at him and bustled over to chat animatedly with someone Sage vaguely recognized as a local politician, leaving Sage standing alone by the huge French windows.

      He glanced out the opened window.  The ballroom opened onto a small, softly lit courtyard filled with plants, a little fountain at its center.  Suddenly the ballroom seemed stifling and overcrowded, and Sage felt he would scream if he didn't get out.  He looked for Matsuka, but she was still talking to Minister Whoever, and Sage took advantage of the distraction to slip out one of the open doors.  He sat down on one of the little stone benches and took a deep breath of the night air.

      "Are you okay?"

      Startled, Sage looked up.  A young woman stood in front of him, the woman he had seen dancing earlier.  He forced a polite smile.  "Yeah, I'm all right.  I just needed some air."

      "It does get kind of overwhelming in there, doesn't it?" the woman said sympathetically.  She sat down beside him and extended a slender hand.  "I don't think we've met.  I'm Carey Navarro, with the National Ballet Theater."

       "Sage Date, Kazuhara Gallery," Sage replied as he shook her hand.  "I enjoyed your performance tonight."

       "The one at the theater or the one in there?" Carey asked with a mischievous smile.  She was very pretty in person, Sage noted, with delicate features and golden eyes that gave her the look of some exotic feline.

       "Both," he admitted.

       Carey laughed, a lush, velvety sound.  "Kazuhara Gallery --- I met someone from Kazuhara earlier, the boss from what I could tell.  She was going on about textile art and drunken sculptors."  She studied Sage curiously, her head tilted to one side.  "Let's see --- you're too young to be her husband, and you can't possibly be her son, not with that hair."

      Sage found himself smiling at her candor.  "Actually, I'm her executive assistant.  Her husband had a business trip to go on, so I got drafted into escort duty."

      "You poor thing," Carey empathized.  "Personally, I can think of other things I'd rather be doing right now, but I'm NBT's newest star, so I have to show up and make nice to a bunch of people who probably can't even remember my name without a program."  She sighed.

      "If it's any consolation to you, I really enjoyed watching you dance tonight," Sage told her.  "In fact, that was the best part of the whole evening.  Those balances of yours in Act Three were unbelievable, and I don't know how you managed that series of turns at the end.  Was it my imagination, or did you really do single, double, triple?"

      "No, it wasn't, and yes, I did.  That _fouetté_ sequence is one of my signature moves.  Brings the house down every time."  Carey looked at him for a moment.  "You really don't belong here," she said finally. "Neither of us do."

      "What do you mean by that?"

      "Look at them in there."  Carey gestured toward the ballroom.  "Those people don't really care about ballet or sculpture or textile art.  They're here to make deals, to hit on other peoples' spouses, to show off how well-off they are.  One guy bragged about the huge contribution he made to NBT's scholarship fund but admitted in the next breath that he doesn't really like ballet --- it just looks good on his tax return.  Another woman told me --- and anyone else who would listen --- that her dress alone cost ten thousand dollars.  Apparently she had it made just for her in Beverly Hills.  I didn't stick around to hear about the accessories."  Carey sighed and shook her head.  "This benefit is just another schmoozefest to them.  But you…you're different.  Do you know that you're the first person I've talked to who's actually noticed _what_ I danced rather than just noticing that I danced?  _You_ actually watched the ballet."

       Sage felt a rush of sympathy for her.  "It bothers you, doesn't it?  To put your heart and soul into your work like you do…and then people just pat you on the head and say 'Very nice, dear' and not even care."

      Carey looked at him in surprise, her eyes a deep amber in the dimness, and Sage was hit with that odd feeling of connection again.  "You noticed that?"

      "I noticed."  _I've been there,_ Sage thought. There was silence between them for a heartbeat or so but it was an easy, comfortable silence, not the awkward hesitation of two strangers stumbling over small talk.  Sage felt strangely at ease with this girl, as if he'd known her for years, and he wondered why.  "If you don't mind my asking," he said finally, "why did you follow me out here?  You and I hadn't even met until now, and I'm sure you would have had to escape the throng of people who wanted to meet NBT's new star attraction."

      Carey lowered her eyes and chuckled ruefully.  "This is going to sound like I'm hitting on you or something, but I've watched you all night.  And the blonde hair notwithstanding, you just didn't look like you belonged with this crowd.  Oh, you smiled and made polite small talk so nobody noticed, but I saw how trapped you looked --- especially when Dr. Hashimoto's wife was showing off the results of her, ah, enhancement surgery," she added with an impish smile.  "Do women _always_ act like that around you?"

      Sage grimaced.  "It's like being back in high school.  Some days I couldn't even walk down the hall without being mobbed.  Do you think they'd leave me alone if I dyed my hair?" he asked wistfully.

      "Don't you dare.  Besides, I don't think it would work for long.  There's just something about you that --- I don't know," Carey shrugged.  "Maybe it's just that you're so easy to talk to.  You certainly got _me_ talking more than I should."

      "Likewise," Sage admitted, surprised at how easily the words came out.  "Do you know I haven't told _anyone_ about my high school girl problems?  At least not anybody I haven't known since then.  You know, I think you're right.  We _don't_ belong here --- we have _minds._"

      "Don't let your boss hear you say that," Carey warned playfully.

      "I won't tell if you won't."              

      Carey smiled at him and that velvet chuckle escaped her again.  Music filtered from the ballroom.  "Would you like to dance?" she asked.

       Sage blinked.  "Oh, I --- uh, I can't," he stammered.  "I --- I'm not nearly as good as you are."

      "Neither are they," Carey said, indicating the partygoers.  

      "No, I mean, I _can't._  I…don't know how to dance," Sage muttered, his face reddening with embarrassment.

      Carey stared at him for a moment.  "I can teach you," she said.

      "What?"

      "I can teach you," Carey repeated.

      Sage felt his face heat even more.  "Not here, I hope.  I'm seriously rhythm-impaired.  Besides, I don't think my boss would like it if I wound up taking dance lessons when I'm supposed to be 'representing the gallery'."

      "You have a point."  Carey thought for a moment.  "Are you free Wednesday night?"

      "I --- yeah, I think so."

      "Good.  Then why don't you meet me at the NBT studios --- say, seven o'clock?  If that's not a good time I can change it," she added apologetically.

      "No --- no, seven is fine," Sage agreed, feeling rather bemused.  "You're serious, aren't you?  You really intend to try and teach me to dance."

      "Not _try._  I _will _teach you."

      "Don't take this the wrong way, but why?"

      Carey shrugged.  "Because you have class.  Because you appreciate my work.  Because you let me rant at you and didn't run away screaming.  But mainly because I like you."  She gave him a smile that made his heart skip a beat.  "Wednesday at seven, then?"

      Sage nodded dazedly.  Carey gave him one last heart-melting smile, then turned and headed back into the ballroom.  Sage stared after her, feeling as if he'd just survived a tornado.  _What have I gotten myself into? he wondered --- and then wondered why Wednesday night suddenly seemed a long way away._

~~~~

      When Sage walked into the dance studio on Wednesday night, Carey was stretching, one leg propped on the barre.  "I hope I'm not too early," he said.

      "No, you're fine," Carey reassured him.  "I just like to keep my muscles loose.  My left hamstring has been a little cranky today, and I didn't want it to tighten up on me."  She swung her leg down in one fluid motion and walked toward him.  "So --- shall we dance?"

      "You know, if you're tired or don't really feel up to it, that's okay,"  Sage apologized, a little too quickly.  "I mean, you're taking your own time to do this, and if you'd rather be resting --- "

       "Oh, no, you don't," Carey laughed, and Sage noticed how casually pretty she looked in black jazz pants, high-heeled shoes, and a snug T-shirt that read "New York City Ballet".  "I'm not about to let you chicken out on me.  Fear is not an option."

      "That's _failure_, Carey."

      "That's not an option, either.  Now come on, we'll start with the basic step.  Stand here beside me, shoulders down, head up, back straight."  Sage did as she instructed, and she nodded approvingly.  "The basic salsa step has three parts.  First, step forward on your right foot, weight on your right.  That's count one.  Next, shift your weight back to your left foot, but keep your right in front.  That's count two.  Bring your feet back together on count three, and pause on count four.  Then you reverse the sequence --- back on your left, shift right, together and hold.  Let's try it.  Ready?  And --- forward, shift, together, hold; back, shift, together, hold…." 

      They practiced the step for a while, Sage awkwardly imitating Carey's more graceful moves.  He felt like a gorilla mimicking a gazelle.  "Is it just me, or am I totally mangling this step?" he asked in frustration.

      Carey smiled.  "Well, it might be a little easier if you bend your knees."

      "Knees.  Right."

      "Keep your knees soft and your lower body relaxed.  That's what makes this dance so fluid.  Make the weight shift more of a rocking motion by staying on the ball of your working foot rather than just leaning back and forth.  For now, at least, your upper body should be still.  All the movement should happen from the waist down.  Okay, let's try it again.  One, two …"

      It took a few more tries, but Carey finally nodded in approval.  "Good, I think you've got the general idea.  Now ---" She swung to face him.  "Let's try partnering."

      "Partnering?" Sage stammered.  "But --- I mean --- I'm not very good at this yet."

      "Salsa dancing --- or any other form of social dancing for that matter --- is not done solo," Carey told him.  "At its best, it's a sort of courtship ritual between a man and a woman --- or a stylized battle of the sexes, depending on who you ask.  Now, then.  The basic step is done in waltz, or closed, position.  Hold my right hand in your left at about chin level.  Your right hand goes at the base of my left shoulder blade and my arm rests on top of yours, elbows level.  There should be about a foot of distance between us.  This is called the frame.  You want to keep that frame steady, but not stiff.  No spaghetti arms or Frankenstein holds."

      Sage looked down at Carey's high-heeled shoes.  "I hope those are steel-toed."

      "You let me worry about that.  Just remember, forward on your right while I go back on my left.  Ready…and.  One --- ow!"

      "Sorry," Sage muttered, red-faced.

      Carey shook out the foot he had stepped on.  "It's all right.  Just relax, okay?  You're doing fine.  Let's try it again…but this time, you might want to start on your _other_ right," she suggested gently.

      He felt like a total idiot, but by the end of the lesson Sage could at least say he was a better dancer than he had been forty-five minutes ago.  "This is harder than it looks," he mused, as they rested on the floor.

      Carey smiled at him.  "Actually, you've done better than most of my other students.  I only had to tell you once to stand up straight, and you do learn fast.  Give yourself time."

      "You have other students?"

      "I teach a salsa class here on Thursdays.  Gives me a nice break from _battements_ and _fouettés_ and the like."

      "So why didn't you just suggest that I take lessons with the group?  Why volunteer to teach me alone?"

      Carey shook her dark hair out of its ponytail.  "Because I like you and because I _wanted _to do it this way, and besides, would you rather work one-on-one or with a bunch of strangers staring at you?"

      "Good point," Sage conceded.

      "I thought so.  Don't worry, you're not putting me to any trouble.  This is something I'm doing for myself as well as you."

      "Having me step on you is your idea of a good time?" Sage asked wryly.  "Most women would prefer a bubble bath or a chocolate binge."

      "_So_ bourgeois," Carey proclaimed, her golden eyes twinkling.  "I'm a dancer.  I'm _different_."  They both laughed, and Carey added, "If you must know, I enjoyed talking to you at the reception the other night.  I decided that I wanted to talk to you some more, and this seemed like a good way to do it.  I get the pleasure of your company, and you learn a valuable social skill.  I hope you don't mind."

      "Not at all," Sage replied, oddly flattered.  "That is, if you don't mind me mashing your toes."

      Carey tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.  "That's what I can't figure out.  I've watched you move, Sage, and you're not as clumsy as you seem to think you are.  You hold your head up, you have beautiful carriage, and you're actually very graceful --- when you're not trying to dance, that is."

      "But get me onto a dance floor and I turn into Godzilla," Sage muttered, embarrassment warring with a strange little glow of pleasure…after all, she_ had_ complimented him, sort of.

      "I know you said you've never danced before, so where did you learn to move like that?"

      Sage shrugged.  "Well, I do have some martial-arts training."  _That's one way of putting it._  "Mainly _kendo_…you know, swordfighting."

      Carey considered that for a moment.  "Well, then, that's our answer," she said finally.  When Sage gave her a puzzled look, she added, "Martial arts requires a great deal of discipline and body awareness, and so does dance.  Just think of one as an extension of the other."

      "I never thought of dancing as being similar to combat," Sage replied, arching an eyebrow.  Carey laughed.

      "You've obviously never been to a popular dance club on a Saturday night," she teased him.  "Besides, I have some martial-arts experience myself, thanks to my street-cop dad.  When it's done right, it really is a lot like dancing."

      "You're a ballerina, you salsa-dance, _and_ you've studied martial arts?"

      Carey smiled archly.  "Sixth-degree black belt in karate.  So don't tick me off."

      Sage's jaw dropped.  "What _else_ do you do?" he asked in astonishment.

      "Well, you'll just have to wait until our next lesson to find that out, won't you?" Carey replied with a wink.  She rose to her feet and shouldered her dance bag.  "I have to get home.  I have company class at ten A.M. tomorrow."

      "I'll walk you out," Sage offered.  They walked through the mostly silent ballet school to Carey's car together, and to Sage it was almost too short a walk.  "Carey, it may not seem like it, but I really enjoyed our lesson tonight," he said hesitantly, as they stood by Carey's small black sports car.  "Thank you."

      Carey smiled warmly at him.  "You may not be thanking me once we start on pivot turns and slide chassés," she warned lightly.  "Same time next week?"

      "I'll be here," Sage promised.  Carey slipped her hand into his for a moment.  Her clasp was warm and gentle.  "Good night, Sage," she said.

      "Good night," he replied.  He watched her drive away, then headed to his own car, feeling strangely happy.  _Same time next week_, he thought.  _I'll get to see her again._  It was a long time before he stopped smiling.   

                                     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Terminology 

_Fouetté_: (_fway-TAY) _French, meaning "whipped".  The technical term is _fouetté rond de jambe en tournant,_ which means "whipped circle of the leg [while] turning".  The dancer executes a series of turns while whipping the working (raised) leg around to provide momentum, the foot closing in to the knee of the supporting leg. Can be done with one or more rotations in a single whip.  The best-known example of a _fouetté_ sequence is the famous 32 _fouettés_ performed by the Black Swan in Act 3 of Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake.  _

_Battement(s)_: (_bat-MAWN)_ French, meaning "beating".  A beating action of the extended or bent leg.

_Pointe_: French, meaning "point".  _On pointe _(or _en pointe_ in French) refers to a female dancer (men dance on _demi-pointe,_ or half-toe) balancing on the tips of her toes.  _Pointe shoes_ are the specially blocked and stiffened shoes that make such a feat possible. 

_Working leg/foot_: The leg/foot that is executing a given movement.  The leg/foot that carries the weight of the body is called the _supporting leg/foot_.     

_Pivot turn_: A step in ballroom and social dance.  The dancer steps out with the working leg, executes a half-turn on the supporting leg, then repeats the sequence.  This will result in a full turn being made. 

_Slide chassé_: _Chassé_ (_sha_-_SAY_) is French and means "chased".  The dancer moves in any direction with a sliding motion in which one foot appears to be "chasing" the other.  Mostly used in social dance, and very popular in Latin dancing.  It is this step that gives the cha-cha its name.

_Principal dancer_: The lead dancer(s) in a ballet company, and can refer to both male and female leads.  While the term _ballerina_ is often used to describe a female principal, technically it refers to an outstanding female dancer who has achieved international recognition in her field.

**Source:** _Technical Manual and Dictionary of Classical Ballet,_ by Gail Grant.


	2. Adagio

Pas De Deux 

By Icewyche 

_Disclaimer: I don't own Ronin Warriors, yadda yadda, blah blah blah._

Part Two: Adagio 

      Sage made one last check of his desk to be sure he had finished the day's paperwork.  Everything was in order, and he quickly shrugged on his coat and headed for the door.  He had wound up working later than usual tonight; they still had to work out the details for the costume exhibit that had become Matsuka's pet project ever since the ballet gala six weeks ago.  But it was now six o'clock, and Sage was due at the ballet studio in an hour.

      Striding quickly down the hall, he almost collided with Matsuka as she was leaving.  "I'm sorry, Matsuka," he apologized.  "I didn't mean to run you over there."

      Matsuka smiled at him.  "No harm done.  Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

      "I'm meeting a friend in an hour," Sage explained, glancing at his watch.  "Oh, by the way, the proposal for the costume exhibit is on your e-mail.  It's still a draft, but I can polish it up once you've had a chance to look it over and see if you want any changes."

      "Good work."  Matsuka eyed her executive assistant speculatively.  "This friend you're meeting --- it wouldn't be the same friend you hurry out of here for _every_ Wednesday night, would it?" she added with a sly smile.

      Sage laughed.  "Busted," he admitted ruefully.  "Yeah, it's the same one."

      "And would this 'friend' be male or female?" Matsuka pressed.

      "Oh, no, you don't," Sage retorted lightly.  "I have to have _some_ secrets.  _Oyasumi_ _nasai_, Matsuka-san."

      "Good night, Sage."  She watched him head down the hall, her eyes narrowed slightly in speculation.  There was a new lightness to Sage's step, and he seemed happier than usual these days --- especially on Wednesdays, Matsuka thought.  He had taken a sudden new interest in the ballet, although he claimed it was research for the new exhibit.  Add to that the fact that he was even more immaculately put together than usual lately … Matsuka's sly smile returned.

      "Female," she said, nodding to herself.  "Definitely female." 

 ~~~~

      "Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow.  One, two, don't-look-down.  Okay, stop," Carey instructed.  She brushed a strand of her dark hair away from her face.  "Not bad, but you have _got_ to get over this habit of staring at your feet every time I throw a new step at you."

      "A new _step_?" Sage said wryly.  "Carey, this is a whole new _dance,_ unless they've started tangoing in Little Havana."

      Carey shrugged.  "I said I would teach you to dance.  I didn't say anything about restricting us to salsa dancing.  Besides, where's your sense of adventure?"

      "I think it ran out when I agreed to let you teach me."  

      "Well, we'll just have to see if we can find a reserve source.  Again --- slow, slow…"

      They practiced for a bit longer, then Carey stopped him again.  "What now?" Sage asked dryly.

      Carey regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.  "Is something wrong?" she asked.  "You keep tensing up.  You have to relax and get close to me for the tango to really work, otherwise the whole dance just falls apart."

      Sage felt his face redden, but he managed to keep his expression neutral.  "No, I'm okay.  This is just new, that's all."

      "That would be a lot more believable if you weren't turning such an interesting shade of red," Carey replied.  "Look, you can't be stiff and formal when you dance.  You have to let go, at least a little."  A thought struck her, and she stared at Sage with a dawning understanding.  "But you're not used to that, are you?"

      "What makes you say that?" Sage retorted.

      "Because I've known you for six weeks now and you are without a doubt one of the most proper and dignified people I've ever come across.  The way you walk, the way you dress, even the way you talk are all very formal and refined.  You don't even own a pair of jeans, do you?"

      "Actually, I have three," Sage told her, feeling a bit stung.  "I just can't wear them to work, and since that's where I am before I come here…."

      "Hey, I'm not criticizing you," Carey said gently.  "But dance is the second-best form of nonverbal communication there is …and you're saying 'stay away' when you should be saying 'come here'."

      "Second-best?  What's the first?" Sage asked before he thought about it.  Carey slanted a dark eyebrow at him, and Sage blushed.  "Oh."

      "You have to relax and just go with the dance," Carey went on.  "Don't worry about being dignified now.  I promise it won't kill you," she teased.

      Sage felt his annoyance deflate in the face of those laughing golden eyes.  "Actually, it's not just that," he admitted.  "I just have a problem with…oh, this is going to sound so incredibly conceited."

      "Tell me anyway."

      "It's just…"  He took a deep breath.  "It's just that women have always followed me around and flirted with me, and it bothers me, so I try to keep my distance," Sage finished in an embarrassed rush.

      Carey's eyes widened.  "You're not gay, are you?" she blurted in dismay.

      "_Carey!_" Sage yelled, his face heating even more.

      "Sorry," she murmured sheepishly.  "But when you said that you didn't like women…"

      "What I _said_ was that I didn't like women hitting on me all the time," Sage explained patiently.  "I just have a problem with people getting too close, especially people I don't know."

      "You like your personal space," Carey agreed.  "That explains the 'look but don't touch' air about you."

      "I do not have that."

      "Yes, you do.  You're just used to it by now."  She thought for a moment.  "So why didn't you say anything the night of the gala?  I know I was intruding…why didn't you tell me to get lost?"

      "Well, first, it would have been rude," Sage said with a smile.  "And second, I didn't want to.  It sounds crazy, but I felt…_comfortable_ around you, and that doesn't happen very often, so I decided to take advantage of it.  And that's all I'm going to say about it so you don't get a swelled head," he finished teasingly.  Carey made a face at him.

       "Just for that, we are going to do this sequence again until you get it right," she warned him, her eyes sparkling.  "And that means no pulling away, no hesitating, and _no looking down._  _Comprende? _Or I guess I should say, _wakaru?_"

      "You know, if I had any sense I'd walk out of here right now while I still have some dignity left," Sage grumbled.  "You're as bad as my grandfather."         

      "Dance first, complain later," Carey reminded him.

      Sage sighed and took up his position again.  "Yes,_ sensei._"    

~~~~

       "Have you noticed that neither one of us seems to date all that much?" Rowen Hashiba mused, toying idly with his napkin.  He and Sage were meeting for lunch at a downtown deli.  "We're single, we're gainfully employed, we're not bad-looking, and we know how to treat a lady," he went on.  "So why can't either of us seem to find the right girl?"

      "Well, in your case, they don't usually hang out in physics labs," Sage replied.  "Other than that, it might have something to do with our sordid teenage escapades.  Say you find Ms. Right and she asks you what you were like in high school.  What are you going to say --- that you enjoyed chess, basketball, and saving the world from the forces of an unspeakable evil?"

     "Well, it's not like we were juvenile delinquents or anything," Rowen pointed out with dignity.  "Kicking demonic butt does not exactly rank with setting mailboxes on fire."

      "No, but most women don't believe in mystical armors, immortal warriors, or thousand-year-old demons trying to enslave the world.  Tell your dream girl about that and she'll probably think you watch too much anime.  Either that or she'll run away really, really fast."

      Rowen chuckled.  "We'd make a hell of an anime series, wouldn't we --- 'The Adventures of the Ronin Warriors'."

      "_Mis_adventures, more like," Sage said wryly.  "No, thanks.  Real life is weird enough for me."

      "Amen to that," Rowen agreed, and they solemnly clinked glasses.

      They talked throughout lunch, reminiscing about old times and catching up on new gossip.  "You know," Rowen said when they had finished demolishing their sandwiches, "you usually go to those cultural-type events, not to mention the receptions the gallery throws.  Isn't there anyone there who's caught your eye?"

      "Are we back on this subject?" Sage complained.  "Anyway, why are you so concerned about my love life?"

      "Or the lack thereof," Rowen replied pointedly.  "You can't help but appreciate the irony, Sage --- women have thrown themselves at you since high school, but you still spend your nights alone.  You're not joining a monastery, are you?"

      "Look who's talking.  You're so involved in your research, when was the last time you even looked at a woman?  You do still remember what they look like, don't you?"

      "Ouch," Rowen winced.

      "Anyway," Sage continued, "I'm not in any hurry to get tied down.  When the right girl comes along, I'll know."

      "Sage!"

      Sage and Rowen both looked up as Carey threaded her way through the restaurant to their table.  "Carey!" Sage exclaimed delightedly.  "Carey Navarro, Rowen Hashiba.  Rowen and I go way back," he explained as he made the introductions.

      "Nice to meet you," Rowen said, rising to his feet to shake her hand.

      "Likewise," Carey replied, smiling.

      "Would you join us?" Sage asked.

      "I can't stay long," Carey said regretfully, taking a seat beside Sage.  "Actually, I was on the way out when I saw you and just thought I'd stop by to say hi.  I have to get back to the studio --- I have a rehearsal for _Serenade_ at 2:30."

      "You're an actress?" Rowen asked.

      "Dancer.  _Serenade_ is a ballet by Balanchine, which basically means it's plotless and rather weird, but in ballet anything by Balanchine is considered a classic no matter how goofy it is," Carey explained wryly.

      "Carey's a ballerina with National Ballet Theatre," Sage told Rowen.

      "Principal dancer," Carey corrected.  "Ballerina's the next step up, and I haven't gotten there yet."

      "You will," Sage assured her.

      "So how did you two meet?" Rowen asked.

      "The gallery sponsored NBT's anniversary gala three months ago," Sage said.  "Carey danced _Don Quixote _that night, and we met at the VIP reception afterward.  If you ever have the chance to see her dance, Rowen, you really should go for it."

      Carey rolled her eyes at him.  "His boss's husband couldn't make it that night, so Sage got roped into escort duty," she explained.  "I have to admit, though, it was nice to find someone there who actually went to watch the _ballet._"  She glanced at her watch.  "Oh, man, I have to get moving.  I still have to get changed and warmed up.  Rowen, it was nice meeting you.  Maybe we can get together sometime and you can tell me all about Sage's dark and sordid past," she added mischievously.

      Rowen snorted.  "I hope you have a couple of days free."

      "Oh, yeah, that's very funny," Sage complained.  "Remind me again why I hang out with you?"

      "Okay, guys, play nice."  Carey rose and laid a hand on Sage's shoulder.  "We still on for tomorrow?"

      Sage nodded.  "Seven P.M., Studio Four.  Wouldn't miss it."  Carey gave him a dazzling smile and left, heads turning as she made her way out the door with a fluid grace.

      "Well…pretty _and_ smart," Rowen mused after Carey had gone.  He sipped his drink and watched Sage with the beginnings of mischief sparkling in his midnight-blue eyes.  "So…what happens tomorrow at seven in Studio Four?" he asked casually.

      Sage blushed slightly.  "Dance lessons."

      Rowen's eyebrows vanished into his bright blue bangs.  "Dance lessons," he repeated mildly.

      "She asked me to dance at the gala, and when she found out I couldn't she volunteered to teach me.  We started out with salsa and moved on to the tango.  I don't know, I guess she enjoys a challenge."

      Rowen propped his chin on his fists, a slow, devilish grin beginning to spread across his face.  "Let me make sure I've got this right.  A ballerina you had just met offered to teach you how to salsa dance."

      "Principal dancer," Sage corrected.

      "And you said yes."

      "Well, yeah, obviously.  Is there a point here?"

      Rowen's grin widened and he began to laugh.  "Oh, man," he chortled.  "I never thought I would see the day.  This is just too great.  How the mighty have fallen."

      "Rowen, would you mind making sense for once?"

      "You don't get it, do you?  Mr. I-Won't-Dance-Don't-Ask-Me suddenly decides to learn the box step just because some pretty Latina Giselle-in-waiting asks him to?  Come on, my friend, wake up those old Ronin Warrior smarts."  Rowen's eyes danced with amusement as Sage stared at him.  "You're falling for her," Rowen proclaimed.

      Sage shook his head, his cheekbones reddening.  "Rowen, that's dumb.  She's just a friend, that's all.  Nothing more than that," he insisted.

      "Uh-huh.  Sure.  Sage, you and I have been friends since we were kids, but I know that if _I_ asked you to take dance lessons, you'd be on the floor laughing yourself sick.  Face it, man," Rowen continued gently.  "You've got it, and you've got it _bad._"

      "Come on, Rowen," Sage protested.  "You know, I think you really need to get out of that lab more --- you're starting to make up girlfriends for me.  You need a hobby, old buddy."

      Rowen chuckled.  "Sage, you can tell yourself whatever you want.  All I know is that when she walked over here to talk to you, you lit up so much I almost needed sunglasses to ward off the glare."  He rose to his feet and reached over to clap Sage on the shoulder.  "Enjoy your dance lessons, buddy," he grinned, then sauntered out of the restaurant, whistling softly to himself.

~~~~

      It was going to be one of those days, Sage decided unhappily a week later.  The day had begun rainy and blustery.  His alarm clock had not gone off and he had just barely made it to work on time.  The proofs for the new catalog had come back so blurry he couldn't tell if he was looking at Degas or Dali.  Negotiations were stalling on a proposed exhibit of antique Japanese kimonos --- the would-be donor was dithering about having his precious treasures leave his sight, even if it was into the hands of trained preservationists, Sage mused in annoyance.  Matsuka had come down with food poisoning from lunch and had had to leave early, forcing Sage to reschedule several of her meetings with people who did not like rescheduling.  And on top of everything else, his grandfather had called him demanding to know when Sage was going to give up his job at the gallery and accept his "responsibility and duty" to help run the family dojo.  Sage had patiently explained that, no, he had not forgotten his duty as a member of the legendary Date family but he was not quite ready to devote himself to the dojo full-time.  Then his grandfather had suggested that perhaps it was time Sage found a wife --- arranged marriages were still quite common and often worked out satisfactorily.  Sage needed a good Japanese wife, and he himself knew of a few girls who were suitable, the old man said sternly.  Sage had to fight to keep from screaming into the phone at him.  He managed to keep his voice calm as he told his grandfather that he was not ready to settle down yet, but when he was he would be certain to ask the older man's advice.  It took all of his self-control to set the receiver gently back in its cradle rather than slamming it down so hard that it broke.  By the time five-thirty rolled around, a headache pounded at Sage's temples and he wanted nothing more than to lock himself in a dark, quiet room for a few hours.  Then he remembered --- it was Wednesday.  Carey would be waiting for him at the dance studio.

      Sage groaned to himself.  The last thing he felt like doing right now was dancing.  He thought about calling her and asking for a raincheck, but then decided to at least make an effort to get through the lesson.  After all, he reasoned, it was only one night a week and she was making a special effort for him.  The least he could do was show up.

      Even the dance school seemed gloomy that evening.  The students' normally bubbly chatter seemed muted and he caught sullen expressions on more than one young face.  _At least it's not just me,_ Sage mused.

      Carey was alone in Studio Four, this time dressed in a black leotard, sheer tights, and a long red wrap skirt.  Spanish guitar music sounded from the CD player and Carey eyed her reflection critically as she danced to the slow, romantic music.  From the doorway, Sage admired the purposeful grace of her movements, the elegant sweep of her arms, the way her sable-brown hair hung loose to her shoulders and swung with each motion of her head.  _She walks in beauty,_ he thought, and was immediately surprised at himself.  _Where did _that _come from?_

      Carey spotted him in the mirror and stopped her dance, turning to face him with a warm, welcoming smile.  "Hey, you made it," she greeted him cheerfully.  

      "Did you think I wouldn't?" Sage asked.

      "Well, I wouldn't blame you if you hadn't, what with the weather being so nasty," Carey replied as she turned off the CD player.  She looked closely at him, her eyebrows knitting in a slight frown.  "Are you okay?  You look kind of frazzled there."

      Sage shrugged with a lightness he did not feel.  "Just one of those days," he explained as he draped his coat over the barre.  "So --- what unspeakable tortures do you have planned for us tonight?" he asked with a forced cheerfulness.

      Carey continued to study him.  "Do you want to talk about it?"

      "Carey, I'm fine.  Really."

      "You're not 'fine'," Carey told him quietly.  "Sage, I can tell just by looking at you that you've got a lot on your mind, and I'd bet that none of it is good.  You're too distracted to dance right now."  She sat down on the bench along one mirrored wall, patting the seat beside her in invitation.  "Sage, talk to me."

      Sage stared at her for a moment, then before he realized what was happening he found himself sitting beside her as a heavy sigh escaped him.  "It's just been a bad day all around," he confessed.  "The weather's lousy, work was crazier than usual, my boss has food poisoning --- don't ever order from that little sushi place near the park --- and to top it all off I got a call from my grandfather today."  He paused.  "I shouldn't burden you with my problems," he said apologetically."

      Carey shrugged and nudged him gently.  "I'm a ballet dancer.  I have very strong masochistic tendencies.  Go on and burden me."

      "My family owns a martial-arts dojo outside of Sendai.  We specialize in _kendo_ --- traditional Japanese swordfighting.  It's been in our family for generations, and we're known for turning out champions; I'm one of them.  My grandfather as well as both of my parents teach there.  In fact, Grandfather taught me and my older sister."

      "This grandfather of yours --- the family patriarch, I assume?  Don't look so surprised.  The traditional Japanese family is not all that different from the traditional Hispanic family."

      Sage shot her a grateful smile.  "No, I guess not.  Grandfather is the head of the household, and his word is law --- and God help you if you cross him."

      "Says the voice of experience."

      "And how."  Sage sighed deeply.  "Grandfather is a very strict, very harsh, very _traditional_ man.  He was educated according to the code of Bushido --- the warrior's code of honor --- and because I'm the only son he decided it was his duty to bring me up the same way.  Trouble is, it didn't always stick.  Grandfather blames my American blood, and it doesn't help matters that my dad is from L.A. --- not exactly a hotbed of social conformity."  He leaned his head back against the wall and stared into space.  "Funny thing is, my dad has settled into the family with no problem.  Took to the whole traditional Japanese way of life thing like a duck to water.  _I'm_ the rebellious one, and I was _raised_ on 'duty' and 'honor' and all that."

      "Well, there's your problem," Carey said wisely.  "You shove 'duty' and 'honor' down a kid's throat for too long and he or she eventually chokes.  So what did your granddad have to say that got you so upset?"

      Sage slanted an amused glance at her.  "Do you know that in all my twenty-three years, I've never _dared_ to address him as 'Granddad'?"

      "Maybe you should start."

      "No, thank you.  I'm not too partial to having my head bitten off.  Anyway, he called me today at work.  Wanted to know when I was going to quit the gallery to come back home and help run the dojo…to fulfill my duty as his grandson and de facto heir.  I told him that I knew what my duty was and I'd be happy to fulfill it, but not right now.  Then he told me I needed to get married and threatened to arrange it for me.  Carey, it took every shred of self-control I've ever had not to hang up on him so hard his ears would ring for a week.  Instead I told him I wasn't ready and to mind his own business --- but very respectfully, of course," Sage finished with a grimace.

      "He's not senile or anything, is he?"

      "Don't I wish.  No, he's in his eighties, but most people think he's twenty years younger.  He'll probably live to be two hundred."

      Carey pondered all this for a moment.  "No wonder you're in such a lousy mood," she said finally.  "If it were me I'd be screaming and throwing things."

      Sage smiled sheepishly at her.  "I thought about it," he admitted.

      "Okay, so let's break it down.  Your family is one of the top names in _kendo._  They run a martial-arts studio --- sorry, _dojo_ --- and have for generations, and they expect you to take the same route.  And they don't seem to know how to take 'no' for an answer.  Sage, for crying out loud, if you don't want to do that, why don't you tell them so?"

      "It's not as bad as it sounds," Sage conceded.  "I enjoy _kendo_, I always have.  And I've always known and accepted that one day I would run the dojo --- I just wanted to see what _else_ I could do in life.  The rest of my family has actually been pretty supportive of my decision to live here and work at the gallery.  Only Grandfather disagrees.  He thinks I'm wasting my time and he wants me to follow the path he's trained me for since I was born."

      "And what do _you _want?" Carey asked gently.  "Sage, I see this all the time with my fellow dancers.  So many of them danced because their parents wanted them to, and now it's become a chore to them.  Or else they _stop_ dancing because their family said so, and they lose something they love.  Either way they wind up miserable because they've had to shelve their own dreams to satisfy someone else.  Even my partner Toshi --- he's been called the 'Japanese Baryshnikov', and his parents _still_ want him to hang up his tights and become a CPA.  Thank God he didn't listen."  She took his hand between both of hers.  "I know you want to please your family, to make them proud of you.  Who doesn't?  But this is _your_ life we're talking about here, not theirs.  You've agreed to run the dojo like they want you to, but before you settle down into your cozy little prearranged destiny you want to see what else is out there, and you have that right.  If you give that up, you're going to spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if?', and it's going to destroy you.  You'll hate yourself for doing it, you'll hate your family for making you do it, and before you know it you'll be a cold, hard, duty-bound man just like your grandfather…and I couldn't bear to see that happen to you," she finished quietly, turning her eyes away.

      Sage was surprised by the intensity of her words; something about his situation had upset her, and he wondered what it was.  He slipped an arm around her shoulders, as much to comfort himself as her.  They sat in silence for several moments, lost in their own thoughts, then Sage rose to his feet and, taking her hands, drew her up with him.  "Come on," he said with a gentle smile.  "I came here to dance, so let's dance."

      Carey tilted her head and eyed him thoughtfully.  "You sure?"

      "Well, let's not try anything too fancy," Sage replied with a slightly embarrassed shrug.  "Just something nice and slow and easy so neither one of us will get hurt."

      Carey chuckled softly and walked over to the CD player.  A moment later, a soft, romantic ballad filled the room.  "Your basic two-step," she said.  "Crowded-nightclub stuff.  Sound okay?"

      "Sounds perfect," Sage agreed.  He took her in his arms and they moved slowly together, not so much a dance as an embrace set to music.  The rest of the world faded away, leaving nothing but the two of them, and it suddenly seemed like the most natural thing in the world to hold her close and rest his cheek against her soft hair.  The tension drained from him as his eyes closed and his breathing deepened.  She leaned against him and he caught the scent of her perfume, sensuous and exotic.  Sage turned his head slightly, letting his lips brush her temple.  Carey looked up at him with those luminous amber eyes, and then her lips were warm and soft against his and nothing else mattered.  Some rational part of his brain that was still functioning told him that he shouldn't be doing this, but a delicious wave of heat flooded through him and he told his mind to shut up.

      The kiss ended and Carey drew back slightly to look at him.  Sage was suddenly, painfully aware that he had overstepped their friendship.  "Carey --- " he began, but Carey gently put her fingers to his lips to silence him.

      "Hush," she whispered, and the word was a caress.  This time she initiated the kiss, and it was even sweeter than the first.  He clung to her as sensations he had never felt before washed over him and in the midst of it all one thought blazed with a clarity unlike any other.  _This is right.  This was meant to be._  He couldn't have said how he knew it, but he _knew._

      Finally, though, the basic need for oxygen won out and they reluctantly separated.  They gazed shyly at each other for a moment until Sage cleared his throat.  "Um --- Carey, I, uh --- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," he stammered awkwardly.

      Carey regarded him with a mixture of affection and exasperation.  "Why not?" she asked.

      Sage gaped at her.  "What?"

      "Look, you kissed me, I kissed you back, we both liked it, so why is there a problem?  Remember, I'm a sixth-degree black belt; I could have stopped you if I felt like it.  Has it occurred to you that maybe I _wanted_ you to kiss me?"

      He knew he looked like an idiot standing there with his mouth open, but Sage was too flabbergasted to care.  "You --- you did?  Why?"

      Carey blushed painfully and bit her lip for a moment, then apparently decided to tackle the question head-on.  "Because… well…because you make my hormones slam-dance and my head go all tingly and I've wanted to kiss you for the past three months," she told him in a rush, a look of defiance in her lovely eyes.

      Sage blinked.  "Really?" he blurted, and immediately mentally kicked himself.  _Oh, _that _was suave,_ he thought in disgust.  _Could you possibly have sounded any _more_ pathetic?_

      Carey didn't seem to notice.  "Yeah, really," she muttered.  "Of course, I've just blown any respect you may have had for me all to hell, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time."  She turned away from him and sullenly crossed her arms over her chest.

      Sage stared at her, a huge, idiotic grin spreading over his face as he began to chuckle.  Carey swung around to glare at him.  "And just _what_ is so damned amusing?" she demanded icily.

      "You.  Me.  Us."  Sage began to laugh harder.  "Oh, God, Rowen was right.  I'm never going to hear the end of this."  Carey looked at him as if he had lost his mind, and Sage finally managed to bring his hilarity under control.  "Last week, at the deli, when you met Rowen --- after you left, he wormed the story about our dance lessons out of me," he explained.  "Rowen thought it was hilarious that someone as rhythm-impaired as I am would agree to learn to dance just because you had volunteered to teach me.  He told me I was falling for you --- and damn his rotten hyperintelligent self, he was right."

      Now it was Carey's turn to stare openmouthed.  "He --- he was?" she asked in a tiny voice.

      Sage grinned at her, feeling lighthearted and giddy and ready to take on the entire world.  "He was and I am and he's going to make my life hell because of it and I don't care," he told her happily.  Carey laughed and threw herself into his arms, and he held her as if he'd never let go.

      Sage nuzzled Carey's hair.  "This is crazy," he said after a moment.

      "Mm-hmm."

      "Totally and completely insane."

      "Yep."  She looked up at him, golden eyes twinkling mischievously.  "Feels good, doesn't it?"

      Sage laughed.  "Absolutely," he agreed.

                                     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Terminology 

_Oyasumi nasai:_ Japanese for "good night".

_Wakaru: _Japanese for "understand".

_Sensei:_ Japanese for "teacher" or "master".

_Balanchine: _George Balanchine (1904-1983), founder of the New York City Ballet and considered to be one of the driving forces behind the growth of American ballet.  His ballets are often set to unusual music --- Stravinsky concertos, Gershwin tunes, and patriotic songs among others --- and the story lines are sometimes quite murky.  _Serenade_, one of his first American works to receive major notice, is set to a Tchaikovsky work, _Serenade for Strings in C Major._

_Giselle:_ The tragic heroine of the 19th-century ballet by the same name.  Betrayed by her noble lover, the peasant girl Giselle goes mad and dies of a broken heart.  She becomes one of the Wilis, vengeful spirits of wronged maidens who die before their wedding day and return from the grave to dance men to death.  Considered to be one of the three most challenging roles for a ballerina --- the other two are Aurora (_Sleeping Beauty_) and the dual role of Odette/Odile (_Swan Lake_).

_Little Havana:_ A borough in Miami largely occupied by Cuban immigrants.


	3. Variation I

Pas De Deux 

By Icewyche 

_Disclaimer: As if it wasn't obvious by now, I don't own Ronin Warriors._

Part Three: Variation I 

      "And one…two…_fondu_ down…up…close fifth…_ retiré_…_developpé _front…close fifth.  And _fondu_…_developpé _side…_fondu_…stretch up…close…_ passé_…_arabesque_…close back."  The voice of Ichiro, NBT's dance master, droned above the delicate tinkling of the piano as the dancers moved through their paces.  "And one … _arabesque _… down … up …close fifth…stretch in the _arabesque_…hold…and close…"

      Carey let her body flow automatically through the familiar, graceful motions.  Some dancers found the basic moves boring; they preferred to go straight to the flashy, crowd-pleasing leaps and turns.  But Carey found that simple elements like _developpés_ required great concentration and control, and could be every bit as challenging as doing 32 _fouettés_.  Any fool could spin until they nearly threw up.  Not everyone could bring their kneecap to their ear and hold it there arrow-straight until their muscles screamed for mercy --- and then hold it some more.

      "_Rond de jambe_ _en dehors_…two… three…and close…_en dedans_…two…three…close…"

      Some dancers shed sweatshirts, tossing them against the wall during a break in the routine.  They stretched and sweated and gulped bottled water and one or two winced as sore muscles protested.  Barre work ended, and the male dancers shoved the portable barres to the side of the cavernous rehearsal hall as the girls changed into pointe shoes.  

     "Groups of five, please; start at the back and come down…start in fourth position, arms low…_glissade, assemblé _… _glissade, assemblé_… "

     Those who weren't dancing clustered at the back of the room and watched as they waited for their turn.  Even though talking during class was technically forbidden, the NBT dancers had learned that if they kept it quiet and didn't miss their cues, Ichiro rarely enforced the rule; he had other things to concentrate on.  Carey overheard some of the whispered gossip, barely audible over the piano.

      "Of _course_ he's gay; he's already come on to three of the _corps _boys…"

      "The doctor thinks it might be a stress fracture, but it _can't_ be --- I just _cannot _take a month off…"

      "She was so drunk they had to _carry_ her in the door --- she didn't even know it was _her_ apartment!"

      "_Grand jeté_…Kyoko, land in _second arabesque_, please, _not_ fourth!" Ichiro yelled. 

      They rarely talked to her, Carey thought a bit unhappily.  The other dancers were polite to her --- she _was_ a principal, after all --- but they didn't exactly welcome her with open arms.  They didn't laugh with her or invite her for coffee or share the latest rumors.  And while she knew that they could be spiteful and even vicious on occasion, still it would have been nice once in a while to have one of them draw her aside after class and whisper, _Did you hear…?_

       "And stretch, and breathe…thank you, ladies and gentlemen.  Class is dismissed."

      Carey joined the rest of the class in the obligatory round of polite applause, then headed over to where her dance bag lay against the wall.  She flopped down with a sigh and began to unlace her pointe shoes.

      "Now _that_ is not a happy face," Toshiro Hamada said as he sat down beside her, stretching his long legs out in front of him.  "Come on, it was a good class.  Those _grand jetés_ were fantastic, by the way.  What did you have for breakfast, helium?"

      "No, it's just that I don't eat as much as _some_ people," Carey retorted.  "Oh, it's nothing, really, Tosh.  Guess I'm just feeling a little sorry for myself today."

      "Hey, if you don't, who will?" Toshiro shrugged.  "So what's got my favorite partner in such a blue mood?  Come on, tell Uncle Toshi all about it."

      " '_Uncle_ Toshi'?" Carey repeated incredulously.  "You are a very disturbed human being --- you do know that, don't you?"

      "I spend my days wearing tights and prancing around a mirrored room when I could be wearing a suit and working in an office, and you just now figured out that I'm disturbed?" Toshiro replied wryly.  "Come on, Care, spill it.  What's wrong?"

      Carey sighed and pulled off her shoes, gratefully wiggling her newly-freed toes.  "I'm just feeling a little lonely today, that's all.  I can't help thinking that I've been here well over a year now, and still nobody really talks to me."

      Toshiro mopped his face with a towel.  "You mean you actually _want_ those harpies to talk to you?"

      "Well, it might be nice to feel a little more welcome every now and then.  You and Jen are the only ones who don't keep me at arm's length all the time.  I mean, I know I'm a foreigner and all, but isn't ballet supposed to transcend borders?"

      "Welcome to the real world, Carushka," Toshiro said dryly.  "Look, don't let them get to you.  The reason they ignore you is because they're jealous.  I mean, you came into this company as a soloist and you made principal in six months.  And not because anybody pulled strings or because you slept with the artistic director, but because you have talent.  You don't believe me, go read your reviews.  Hell, Carey, the only reason some of them talk to _me_ is because they think that if they can manage to sleep with me they'll get promoted faster.  But I'm too smart for them," he finished mock-triumphantly.

      Carey laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right.  This is just temporary insanity and I need to get over it.  After all, it's not like I don't have _any_ friends.  Thanks for the boost, Toshi."

      "Any time.  An unhappy partner is a partner who does not dance well and makes me work harder to make her look good," Toshiro proclaimed loftily.  Carey whacked him with her shoe.

      A ripple of excitement from the doorway caught Toshiro's attention.  "And speaking of friends…whose is _that_?" he wondered.  Carey looked up and saw the tall blonde man surrounded by three fluttering _corps_ girls.

      "Mine," she said with a broad smile.  She gathered her things and went to rescue him.

      Sage was patiently explaining to the girls that he wasn't a dancer and he wasn't lost.  He was looking for someone, but thanks anyway.  "Excuse me," Carey said, slipping through the small knot of Sage's admirers.  She slid an arm around his waist and kissed him full on the lips, noting with amusement how quickly the flirtatious smiles melted into disappointed pouts as the girls dispersed.  "Hey, sweetheart…_Madre de Dios_, _what_ are you wearing?"

      Sage laughed.  "They're called blue jeans, Carey, and it's nice to see you too."

      "Someone check the weather service --- hell is freezing over someplace in the universe," Carey marveled.  "So what brings you here…not that I'm not glad to see you, but aren't you supposed to be at work?"

      "I had the day off, and I decided to spend some time with my favorite ballerina in her natural habitat," Sage explained with a smile.  "That is, if it's okay with you."

       "Are you kidding?  That's the best news I've heard all day.  I've got a couple of rehearsals today and another class at four, but I'm not dancing tonight's performance so I have a light schedule," Carey replied happily.  Toshiro joined them, and Carey made the introductions.  "Toshi, this is Sage Date.  Sage, this is my favorite partner, second-best friend, and the occasional bane of my existence, Toshiro Hamada."

      "I was wondering how I got downgraded to second-best friend, but I guess it's pretty obvious," Toshiro mock-grumbled as he and Sage shook hands.  "Nice to meet you.  So how long have you been living in Japan?"

      "All my life," Sage replied wryly.  "I'm from Sendai."

      "Sendai?  Oh, man, I thought you were an American like my Carushka here.  Sorry," Toshiro apologized.  He thought a moment.  "Wait a minute.  Your name's Date and you're from Sendai?  Are you related to that family that has the dojo there?  Of course you are," he answered his own question.  "Carey, do you know who this guy is?"

      "An art historian with excellent taste in women?" Carey replied dryly.  Sage rolled his eyes at her.

      "Besides that.  Carey, this is the reigning _kendo_ Grand Champion for the Northeast Division.  What, he didn't tell you?"

      "Not the Grand Champion part," Carey said, arching an eyebrow at Sage.

      "Well, you never asked," Sage replied logically.

      "Since when do you know so much about _kendo_?" Carey asked Toshiro.

      "Hey, I have to have _some_ interests outside ballet," Toshiro shrugged.  "Carey, you rotten bitch, you're dating a _Grand Champion._  You _definitely_ don't have any reason to mope.  So how did you two meet, anyway?"

      "It's a long story, and don't you have a rehearsal to go to?" Carey said, gently shoving him out the door.

      "Not for another forty-five minutes," Toshiro said stubbornly.  "_And_ we can talk on the way.  So start talking."

      Carey and Sage smiled ruefully at each other, and began explaining.

~~~~

      "So now you see that ballet life behind the scenes is actually as boring and repetitive as any office job, except we don't dress as nicely," Carey said wryly.  There was an hour's break between lunch and her next rehearsal, so she and Sage had decided to take a walk through a nearby park.  

      Sage smiled at her.  "Actually, I thought it was pretty interesting.  Those ballets look so effortless on stage, you never think about all the creative effort that goes into them.  I especially liked that tango ballet you're working on.  That's going to be something when you're finished.  You and Toshiro really work well together, almost like you can read each other's minds."  He paused.  "You weren't…_involved, _were you?" he asked hesitantly.

      "Jealous?" Carey teased.  "No, he's just a really good friend.  Toshi had just made principal when I joined NBT.  He took me under his wing and he's been really great to me.  By the way, I'm sorry about his latching on to you like that.  I didn't realize Toshi could get so starstruck."  She laughed.  "A group from the Kirov visited once and he didn't even turn a hair, but he finds out I'm dating a _kendo_ champion and he gets all goofy."  

      "It's okay," Sage reassured her.  "I just didn't think that anyone in ballet would have heard about my secret life.  It's not something I broadcast outside of the sport."

      "Such modesty."

      "Well, _you_ didn't tell me you won the gold medal at that international ballet competition three years ago," Sage retorted mildly.  "I had to find out about it from one of the dance magazines when I was doing research for the ballet costume exhibit."

      "_Touché,_" Carey admitted.  "By the way, I need to ask you something.  A nightclub has asked me to do a demonstration of salsa dancing on Saturday.  Would you be my partner that night?"

      "As in, in front of actual people?" Sage asked, alarmed.  "Is that a good idea?  I mean, do you think I'm ready?"

      "You've been dancing with me for almost five months and you still have to ask that?  You can do those combinations in your sleep, Sage.  You're ready.  And besides, the only way you're going to get over this public-dancing phobia of yours is to face it head-on." 

      "I don't know, Carey," Sage murmured doubtfully.

      "Well, _I_ do," came the firm reply.  "Saturday night, eight o'clock.  Be at my place at seven or I come looking for you."

      "Couldn't you ask one of your students?" 

      Carey gave him a look that said the discussion was over, and Sage reluctantly conceded.  "Oh, all right.  I suppose you'll find some way to get back at me if I don't do this," he grumbled.

      "That's the spirit.  And if it makes you feel any better, I'd rather dance with you than anyone else," Carey told him.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and stretched up to plant a kiss on his mouth, but Sage pulled away.  "What?"

      "Carey, not here," he said, gently unwinding her embrace.

      "What?  Why not?"

      "Because we're in public with a lot of people around us." 

      Carey raised an eyebrow.  "I'm still not seeing your point."

      Sage started to explain, but a chorus of tiny giggles caught his attention.  He and Carey both looked over to see a group of young schoolgirls watching them, small hands pressed over their mouths as their dark eyes sparkled with mirth.  Sage smiled politely at them, but an older woman, apparently their teacher, bustled up and spoke sharply to the little girls.  The mirth vanished, to be replaced by expressions of demure gravity although several pairs of eyes still stole laughing glances.  The teacher then started to say something to Sage and Carey in Japanese but halted, switching to slow, broken English.  "I sorry…children were rude."

       Sage gently cut her off, saying something in Japanese that brought a look of mingled embarrassment and relief to the woman's face.  She bowed and seemed to apologize profusely, then hustled her charges away.  "Okay, what was that all about?" Carey asked.

      "You've been here a year and a half, and you still don't speak the language?"

       Carey gave him an exasperated look.  "Not as well as she does.  Besides, I work in a field where we do most of our communicating in French.  Now, what did she say?"

      Sage sighed unhappily.  "She said the kids knew better than to stare at Americans like that.  She thought we were tourists," he explained.

      "And why would she think that?"

      "Well, it might have something to do with the fact that I'm blonde and you're Hispanic and we're kissing in the middle of a public park," Sage told her.  "Carey, you have to understand that the Japanese tend to frown on public displays of affection."

      "I'm not Japanese."

      "But I am," Sage reminded her gently.

      "So I've noticed," Carey replied, a little bitterly.  She turned away from him and crossed her arms over her chest as if cold.  "God, I hate it here sometimes."

      Sage frowned in concern.  "Carey, are you all right?"

      "Yes," Carey snapped, then sighed.  "No.  Oh, hell, Sage.  This place is one of the most uptight countries I've ever seen.  Everybody has to behave just the right way, just like everyone else.  And if you don't, or even if you _look_ different, you're automatically an outsider."

      "What do you mean?"

      "Look at those kids." Carey indicated the departing schoolgirls in their matching uniforms.  "They look alike, they act alike, and I'll bet they even _think_ alike.  But what do you think it costs them?" 

      "Carey, they're only kids."

      "But they'll grow up, Sage, and they'll do it in the same rigid mold as everyone else.  If they don't get into the right schools, or if they aren't quite as smart as their peers, or if they just don't want to do what their families want them to do, they'll be considered failures.  So they'll fight to fit into the mold, but what if they just can't?  What if they're just never good enough?  What will happen to them then?"  Carey finished in a faintly trembling voice.  She shivered.

      "Carey, Carey, whoa, hold up there," Sage tried to soothe her, worried by her sudden mood change. "This isn't Nazi Germany.  Those kids have choices.  And, yes, they may have to fight for some of them, but isn't that the same everywhere?  I went against my family to study art history and work at Matsuka's gallery, but I think I turned out okay, and so will they."  

      Carey was silent for a moment, then she swiveled to gaze intently up at him.  "What was it like for you?" she asked abruptly.

      "What?"

      "Growing up here with blonde hair and blue eyes.  Knowing that nothing short of radical cosmetic surgery will make you fit in with your peers.  What was it like?  And tell me the truth."

      Sage floundered for a few seconds, not quite sure what to say.  Then he sighed.  "When I was little it was awful," he admitted slowly.  "And not just because some people tend to frown --- strongly --- on mixed-race children.  I had…_other_ problems."

      "Such as?" Carey prodded.

      "Such as --- "  Sage took a deep breath.  "Carey, only my family and my four closest friends know what I'm about to tell you.  I want you to swear to me that you won't either laugh until you collapse or use this as future blackmail material."  At her puzzled nod, he continued, "When I was little, about five or so, I got really sick.  It was so bad my parents had to put me in the hospital, and once or twice the doctors thought I might not make it to my next birthday.  I made it through the worst of the illness, but they said it would be a while before I recovered completely --- if I _ever_ did.  I was still pretty fragile, and there was always the chance of a relapse.

      "Well, this bothered Grandfather to no end.  It was bad enough that a son of the legendary Date family was so sick and weak, but for it to be the _only_ son in two generations…. He decided that the gods were jealous of our good fortune, and that there was only one way to protect the family's future."

      "What did he do, lock you away somewhere until you got better?"

      Sage smiled faintly.  "Sometimes I think that would have been kinder, but no, that's not what he did.  There's an old superstition that girls live longer because the gods don't consider them to be as valuable to a family's future as boys are.  So to deflect the envious gazes of the gods, my grandfather did what the noble samurai families used to do --- he dressed me up as a girl."

      Carey's jaw dropped.  "He did _what_?"

      "Mm-hmm.  Kimono, black wig and all.  Looking back on it now, it's almost funny in a pathetic sort of way.  I know he meant well, but he made my life miserable because of it.  I wanted so desperately to be normal, but no one would let me.  I was a little boy forced into the disguise of a girl, and it hurt.  Not to mention being lonely as all hell --- the boys didn't want to play with me, and I certainly wasn't going to play with the girls, so I spent a lot of time alone.  And to make matters worse, my older sister Yayoi thought the whole thing was hilarious.  She called me 'Seijiko" so it sounded like a girl's name; she'd dress me like a doll and put ribbons in my hair, and because she was considered to be my elder I couldn't do anything about it.  She especially loved it when people would say that I'd be a beautiful woman someday or that they thought she had a brother.  I still remember the smile on her face when she'd tell them with great enjoyment that that 'beautiful little girl' _was_ her brother."  His lips tightened briefly in remembered anger, then he sighed.  "So there you have it --- my childhood trauma in all its twisted, Freudian glory.  You asked me once why I had such trouble getting close to people.  Well, it's simple, really…I never learned how," he explained quietly.

      Carey continued to stare at him for a few moments, her mouth slightly open and a look of simmering fury in her eyes.  Then she said in a very quiet and even voice, "Sage, if I ever meet your sister…remind me to kick her ass."      

     Sage had to bite back the impulse to smile.  "Honey, what's really bothering you?  Toshiro said something about you moping today.  Please, Carey, tell me what's wrong," he urged, tenderly gathering her into his arms.

      "I thought public displays of affection were frowned on," Carey muttered, but she didn't try to break away.

      Sage's reply was blunt and rather vulgar, especially for him.  "_Sage!"_ Carey exclaimed, mildly scandalized.  Sage blinked innocently at her.  "I didn't think you even _knew_ that word."

      "I'm full of surprises," Sage replied calmly.  "Anyway, they already think we're tourists, so why not play along?  Now start talking."

      Carey sighed deeply.  "Sometimes I just don't feel like I belong here," she confessed.  "I'm thousands of miles away from home.  I haven't been able to have a conversation in Spanish with anyone in over a year.  Nobody at NBT really talks to me except Toshi and one other dancer.  My command of the Japanese language is less than perfect, and don't even get me started on the etiquette.  I hate sushi and I can't even find a decent Italian restaurant, much less Mexican.  I'm always on the outside, and I hate it."

      "You're homesick," Sage commiserated.

      "Homesick and lonely," Carey agreed.

      Sage hugged her close.  "Well, I can't do much about the homesick part, but you're not as lonely as you think you are.  If nothing else, you've got me.  That's worth something, isn't it?" he asked lightly.  Carey looked up at him, her smile returning.

      "Yes," she agreed firmly.  "It definitely is."  Oblivious to any passersby, they kissed lingeringly, wrapped in each other's arms.

      Finally Sage returned to reality.  "Uh, honey --- what time is it?"

      "Hmmm?"  Carey glanced at her watch.  Her amber eyes widened.  "_Mierda!"_  She grabbed Sage's hand, and they set off for the studio at a dead run.

~~~~

      Sage fidgeted nervously outside the door of Carey's apartment.  It was Saturday night, seven o'clock on the dot.  "The things I do for love," he muttered to himself as he rang the doorbell.                  

      Carey opened the door, and Sage immediately forgot all his objections.  She wore a simple, sleeveless black dress that glittered subtly and showed off her trim figure.  Her dark hair was down, caught back at the temples with a pair of barrettes, one of which had a silk rose attached to it.  "Wow," Sage murmured when he remembered how to breathe again.  "You look --- I mean --- that is --- _wow_."

      "I think that was a compliment, albeit in Inarticulate Guy Speak," Carey teased him, her eyes sparkling.  "Shall we go?"

      The dance club was bustling.  Latin music pulsed from the sound system and multicolored lights flashed.  For Sage, the whole effect was somewhat disorienting.  "I feel extremely out of place all of a sudden," he confided.

      "Relax," Carey said, raising her voice to be heard above the music.  "You're with me, and you know what you're doing.  You'll be fine."

      At eight o'clock, the music stopped, and Carey strode onto the cleared dance floor, clapping her hands briskly to get the crowd's attention.  "_Bienvenido,_" she said with a smile.  "For those of you who don't speak Spanish, that means 'welcome'.  I'm Carey Navarro; I'm from Miami, Florida, and I'm a dancer with National Ballet Theater.  I also teach a class there in beginning salsa dance, and tonight I've been invited to demonstrate some of the basics of salsa.  This is my partner, Sage Date."  She indicated Sage, who responded with a gracious nod.  "First we'll demonstrate a basic salsa combination, then we'll have you pair off and teach you the moves.  Sage?"  He moved forward and she nodded at the DJ.  "_Maestro, por favor._"  The music began.  "And one, two, three, four…"

       They moved through the simple combination easily, and Sage felt his nervousness vanish.  Carey smiled at him as they finished facing each other, their hands clasped.  Their audience applauded, and they bowed.  "Thank you," Carey said.  "Now, before anyone here thinks that you have to be a professional dancer in order to do this, I should tell you that Sage has only been dancing with me for a few weeks and had no prior dance training."  The crowd applauded again, and Sage felt himself blushing slightly.  Carey winked at him and then turned her attention back to the others.  "So…if you would all move out here and make sure there's at least an arm's length of distance between you, we'll begin.  Step forward on your right foot…"

      The lesson lasted half an hour, then Carey thanked the dancers.  "Okay, that concludes the lesson, so now it's time to use what you've learned.  Let's dance!"  The crowd applauded, and the music started up again as the dance floor filled with laughing couples.

      Carey and Sage found a small table and sat down to watch their students.  "You know, you lied to them about my dance experience," Sage teased Carey.  "It's been five months, Carey."

      Carey sipped her drink.  "Four and a half," she replied unconcernedly, but her eyes danced.  "That counts as a few weeks.  Nobody said I had to be specific."  She smiled at him.  "You did beautifully out there."

      "Thanks to you," Sage pointed out.  "If it had been anyone else I would have been tripping over my own feet.  You made me look good."

      "And vice versa.  I saw those women staring at you.  I thought that one lady was going to faint when you showed her how to do the dance hold," Carey chuckled.  "I'm surprised none of them have asked you for a private lesson."

      Sage shook his head.  "What's that saying?  'Dance with the one that brought you'."  He took Carey's hand and brought it to his lips.  Violet eyes met golden ones and held.

      "Well, then…_bailamos_," Carey replied softly.  And they did.

       They stayed for two hours, dancing until they were danced out.  The moon was high and full overhead as they made their way to Sage's car, laughing and breathless.  "I never thought I'd say this, but that actually resembled fun," Sage admitted. 

      Carey mock-scowled at him.  "Oh, don't go all dignified on me again," she scolded.  "Admit it. You had a good time and you know it."  She tossed her hair back and took a deep breath of the night air.  

      Sage smiled at her.  "_You_ certainly did," he teased.  "You're lit up like a chandelier."

      "At least one of us knows how to have fun," Carey retorted, planting a quick kiss on his jawline.  She twirled lightly under his arm, then stumbled.  "Ouch!"

      "Are you okay?" Sage asked worriedly as he caught her.

      "Yeah, I think so."  Carey winced.  "I must have twisted my ankle on that crack in the sidewalk."

      "Let me see."  Sage swept her up in his arms and set her gently on the hood of his car, then cradled her foot in his hands, checking expertly for any sign of injury.  "There doesn't seem to be any swelling.  Can you move it?"

      Carey experimentally rotated and flexed the offending ankle.  "Yeah, it's okay.  Just a minor twist."  She tilted her head back, gazing up at the sky.  "The moon's beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

      Sage admired the pure line of her throat, and the words slipped out.  "_You're_ beautiful," he murmured huskily.  Their gazes met and Sage felt his nerve endings tingle.  "Funny," he continued.  "I only had one margarita, but I feel kind of buzzed all of a sudden."

      Carey smiled, a knowing, seductive smile.  She brushed his blonde hair away from his face with a lingering caress, and the night suddenly got a lot warmer.  "It's not the margaritas," she told him.

      "No," he agreed softly.  "It's not."  He placed a hand on the car's hood on either side of her and leaned closer until their faces were only inches apart.

      "We're in public," Carey reminded him, her gaze fixed hungrily on his mouth.

      "I don't give a damn," Sage replied.  Then their lips met in a kiss that started off slow and tender but quickly deepened into something more.  Every nerve in Sage's body came alive.  His blood caught fire, his soul lifted and soared, and his heart finally acknowledged what it had known all along.  "I love you," he whispered when they finally separated.

      "_Te amo_," Carey replied just as softly.  "It means 'I love you' in Spanish."

      "I knew that."

      A wicked little smile curled Carey's mouth.  "Okay, then try this."  She leaned very close to him.  "_Te quiero_," she breathed against his lips.

      _Oh, my_, Sage thought dizzily.  "Yeah," he said, suddenly breathless.  "I know that one, too."  They gazed deeply into each other's eyes.

      "Let's go home," Carey murmured.

~~~~

      She was everything he had ever dreamed, like nothing he had ever expected.  He drowned in her kisses, melted beneath the searing sweetness of her touch.  He ran his fingers through her hair, held her slender body close to his, trailed his lips along the ivory column of her throat.  He wanted to learn every inch of her.

      She peeled his shirt from him and sent it flying across the room.  His fingers trembled slightly as he unzipped her dress, smoothing it lingeringly from her shoulders.  The fabric puddled at her feet with a silken rasp and she heedlessly kicked it aside.  Then her skin was next to his; heat surged through him as Carey's slim hands moved sensuously over the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and chest and then started lower.  Suddenly the maelstrom of sensation overwhelmed him and he felt a shiver of fear.  He was losing control in a way he never had before --- and he _wanted_ to.  "Carey," he whispered shakily.

       "Shhh," Carey whispered back, gently placing her fingers over his mouth.  "Nonverbal communication, remember?  Don't talk to me here," she added, tracing a finger along his lower lip.  "Talk to me _here_."  She placed a hand over his heart, and Sage knew he was lost.  He kissed her again and joyously surrendered.

      Much later, they rested in each other's arms, Carey's head on Sage's shoulder as he tenderly stroked her hair.  "It's kind of funny," Sage mused quietly.  "I read the books, sat through the sex-ed lectures in high school, got the big talk from my dad when I was fifteen.  I learned all the mechanics and what goes where."

      Carey arched an eyebrow.  "Insert Tab A into Slot B?" she asked wryly.

      Sage chuckled.  "Something like that.  I thought I understood.  But nobody ever told me --- "  He searched for words.  "Nobody ever said how perfect this could be, how…how _right_," he said finally.

      Carey traced a finger along her lover's collarbone.  "Maybe they didn't know."  She tilted her head to look at him.  "I didn't," she said, then added softly, "Not until now."

      Sage kissed her forehead and held her closer, marveling at the sense of peace and completeness he felt.  _I'm home_, he thought.  _I'm finally where I've always belonged.  _"_Te amo_," he murmured.  Carey smiled into his eyes and kissed him.

      "I love you," came her reply.

      
                                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Terminology 

Unless otherwise noted, all the following terms are French in origin.

_Fondu:_ Literally means "to melt". (Anybody remember _fondue _pots?) Used to describe a controlled lowering of the body made by bending the knee of the supporting leg.

_Retiré:_ Pronounced _ray-TEER-ay _and means "withdrawn".  The thigh is raised to second position with the knee bent so that the pointed toe rests in front of, beside, or behind the supporting knee.  

_Developpé: Dev-luh-PAY_;"developed".  The working leg is drawn up to the knee of the supporting leg, then extended to its full length in the air and held there with perfect control (and no hands).

_Passé:_ _Pa-SAY; _"passed".  The foot of the working leg passes the supporting knee while moving from one position to another.  Sometimes used interchangeably with _retiré_.

_Arabesque:_ A basic pose in ballet where the dancer stands on one leg with the other extended behind at a right angle.  _Second arabesque_ means that the forward arm is the opposite of the supporting leg, i.e., left leg back and right arm forward.  _Fourth arabesque_ means that the supporting leg is nearer to the audience and is bent slightly.

_Rond de jambe en dehors:_  _Rawn-duh-ZHAMB-ahn-day-OR_; a circular movement of the leg outward, or clockwise.  _En dedans (ahn-day-DAHNS)_ means to circle inward, or counterclockwise.  Can be done with the working foot on the ground (_a terre_) or in the air (_en l'air_).

_Glissade: Glee-SAHD_; "glide".  A gliding step which serves as a link between steps or as a preparation for others.

_Assemblé: Ah-sawm-BLAY_; "assembled".  The working foot slides along the ground before being swept into the air.  As the working foot leaves the ground the dancer pushes off the floor with the supporting leg, bringing the feet together and pointing the toes.  Both legs come to the ground simultaneously in fifth position.

_Grand jeté: Grawn-zhuh-TAY_; "large throwing step".  The legs are thrown to 90 degrees as the dancer jumps; resembles a split in midair.

_Positions of the feet:_ There are five in classical ballet.  _First:_ The feet form one line with the heels touching.  _Second:_ The feet are on the same line with about a foot's distance between them.  _Third: _One foot is in front of the other, the heel touching the middle of the other foot.  _Fourth:_ Similar to third, but the feet are parallel and separated by a distance of about one foot.  _Fifth:_ The feet are crossed so that the heel of one foot touches the toes of the other.

_Corps (de ballet):_ The chorus or "extras" of a dance company.  They are considered to be at or near the bottom of the performing hierarchy.

_Soloist:_ A step below principal dancer.  Performs alone or with a very small group, but does not dance the lead role.

_Madre de Dios:_ Spanish; "mother of God".    

_Por favor: _Spanish; "(if you) please".

_Bailamos:_ (like I really have to explain this one) Spanish; "let's dance".

_Te quiero:_ Spanish; "I want you".

_Mierda:_  It's Spanish, it's a four-letter word that would probably get your mouth washed out with soap, and that's all I'm going to say --- I do have _some _standards. 

Source for ballet terms: _Technical Manual and Dictionary of Classical Ballet_, by Gail Grant.

**_Author's Note:_**  Okay, so writing sex scenes is not my _forte_.  Use your imaginations.  (Okay, that was a bad idea --- you people have _really_ dirty minds.)  So now our hero and his lady live happily ever after, right?  Of course not --- it couldn't possibly be _that_ easy.   As the immortal Bard once said, "The course of true love ne'er did run smooth."   Will Sage learn to loosen up?  Will Carey get over her homesickness?  And what is it about Japanese schoolchildren that freaks her out?  Find out, in the next thrilling episode of…sorry, got carried away there.  Anyway, there's more to come!  And thanks to all who gave me such great reviews…you know who you are.  **; )**    ****    


	4. Variation II

Pas De Deux 

**By Icewyche**

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I do not own Ronin Warriors.  However, I do own this plot and all characters that are not Ronin Warriors.  Mess with them and feel my wrath._

Part Four: Variation II 

The bamboo swords clashed together, the sound echoing through the small dojo.  The combatants circled one another warily, then the smaller fighter lunged forward, swinging the _shinai_ in a broad horizontal arc.  The blow would have landed, but the taller fighter darted swiftly out of the way and blocked the strike easily with a tooth-rattling impact.  His opponent stepped back, shaking out the insulted wrist.

      "Ow," Carey muttered a bit petulantly, her voice muffled by the _men_ covering most of her head.  "Don't you break my wrist, Sage --- it's going to be hard to do finger turns with my arm in a cast."

      "I only rattled you a little," Sage explained, reaching beneath his own mask to flick a stray lock of hair out of his eyes.  "Carey, the _shinai_ is not a baseball bat, and you are not swinging for the fences at Dodger Stadium.  The idea is to use controlled blows to strike the target areas, not to decapitate your opponent."

      Carey mopped sweat from her forehead.  "Since when do you know about Dodger Stadium?"

      "I live in Japan, _koibito,_ not in a cave.  Now come on, concentrate.  You control the _shinai_, not the other way around."

      "I'm not so sure about that, honey.  This thing is at least as big as I am," Carey pointed out, eyeing the bamboo sword dubiously.  "What, do they only make these in 'one-size-fits-all'?"

      "Sorry, love, but it was the smallest the dojo had.  I guess they don't have a whole lot of students who are 5'2" and 130 pounds," Sage said, grinning to himself as he saw Carey's amber eyes flash at him through her mask.

      "For your information, I happen to be 5'4" and _115_ pounds," she retorted, but the dignity of her reply was rather spoiled when her mask slipped slightly, resting at an odd angle on her head.  She frowned and shoved it back into place.  "Dammit.  Well, I suppose this is what I get for trying the whole 'share-in-your-significant-other's-interests' thing."

      "You _said_ you wanted me to teach you some of the basics of _kendo_, if for no other reason than so that you could understand what Toshi and I were talking about," Sage reminded her.

      "Yes, I know what I _said_," Carey sighed ruefully.  "And the next time I say something like that, please, I beg you, if you love me even the slightest little bit --- tell me no."

      "Not a chance," Sage replied with relish.

      "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

      "I believe the appropriate saying is, 'Payback is hell'," Sage quoted, his lavender eyes sparkling with laughter.  Carey growled something at him in Japanese, and Sage chuckled.  "Well, at least your command of the language is improving, although I wouldn't recommend using that word in polite company.  Now pick up the _shinai_ and let's try it again.  Remember, the object is to hit me, but not get hit yourself.  And only clean hits score points.  No wild swings.  Ready?  _Hajime._"

      They sparred for several minutes; parry and attack, back and forth.  Finally Carey decided to end the game.  She deflected several of Sage's attacks then ducked under another, a move that brought her closer to him.  But instead of retreating, she lunged for him, tangling her _shinai_ between his ankles and sending him crashing to the floor with a swift yank of her arm.  As Sage waited for his head to stop ringing, Carey whipped off her _men_ and shook her dark hair free, then planted the tip of her _shinai_ against his heart with a sweet smile.  "I believe the word you're looking for is _touché_," she said smugly.

      "I believe the word I'm looking for should never be used in front of a lady," Sage replied dryly as he removed his own mask.  "You do realize that if this were a real match, that little stunt would have gotten you not only disqualified but probably banned from the sport."

      "And if it were a real _fight_, you'd be dead before the referee even noticed," Carey replied.  "_Querido_, I'm sorry, I know how much you love this sport, but to me it all seems kind of fussy and overcontrolled.  I mean, everything is so ritualized."

      Sage propped himself up on one elbow and arched an eyebrow at his lover.  "Says a woman who works in one of the most ritualized art forms on the planet."

      "Yeah, yeah, I know.  It's just that I always thought you learned to fight to protect yourself --- you know, that it was something you could use in real life if you had to.  And somehow I can't see the street gangs in the _barrios_ back home bowing and waiting for the ref to tell them to go ahead and start knifing each other…although I suppose it might make the drive-by shootings a little more civilized," she mused, her eyes dancing humorously.

      Sage grinned at the image her words conjured up.  "Insult _my_ sport, will you?" he growled playfully, grabbing the leg of her flared pants.  "Come here, woman."  He enjoyed her squeak of surprise as he pulled her down --- then yelped as the bamboo _shinai_ landed on him first, and Carey landed on top of _it_.  "Ow --- okay, that was definitely a bad idea," he groaned, rubbing his chest where the practice sword had hit him.

      "Serves you right," Carey pouted.  "Sage, if I have to explain to my dresser how I got a bruise on my _cleavage_, you are a dead man.  Next time you decide to get amorous, you might want to make sure I'm unarmed first."

      "Oh, I don't know," Sage drawled.  "I've heard that using toys can spice up a romance --- why not weapons?"

      "Okay, _now_ we're getting into scary visual places.  Is this something you forgot to tell me about?  Let me guess --- you keep the whips and chains under the bed."

      "Closet," Sage replied blandly.  Carey arched an eyebrow at him and he grinned wickedly.  "Gotcha."

      Carey shook her head and rolled her eyes.  "They grow older but they never grow up.  Tell me again why I stay with you?"

      "Well, there's my intelligence and good breeding and my not-inconsiderable charm…"

      "Uh-huh.  Now give me the _real_ reasons."

      Sage chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.  "I can think of one very good one," he murmured.  Her eyes sparkled in assent as he kissed her long and deeply.  Neither one of them heard the door open.

      "Seiji, _what _are you doing?"

      The stern female voice caused the lovers to jump guiltily apart.  Sage scrambled to his feet as he looked up at the visitor in the doorway…and his heart sank.  "Yayoi," he greeted her with a forced lightness.  "What a…surprise."

      "So I see," came the amused reply.  "Don't hurt yourself rushing to greet me, baby brother."

      "Not likely," Sage muttered beneath his breath.  "Carey, sweetheart, this is my sister, Dr. Yayoi Date.  Yayoi-_onēsan_, this is Carey Navarro…my girlfriend."  This last was said with a trace of defiance, almost as if he dared Yayoi to object.

      Carey studied the new arrival with interest.  Yayoi Date was a slender woman of average height, with brown eyes and black hair knotted severely at the base of her neck.  The only thing Carey saw that might have told her Yayoi and Sage were related was the relative fairness of Yayoi's complexion --- that and her rather formal bearing.  Carey also saw the supercilious amusement with which Yayoi regarded Sage, and the disinterest for Carey herself.  _And I thought _Sage_ was standoffish.  _Carey Navarro instantly disliked Dr. Yayoi Date.

      "It's nice to meet you," she said politely, slipping instantly into full-scale gracious-ballerina-meeting-the-public mode as she extended a hand in greeting.  "Sage has told me so much about you."

      Yayoi flicked a glance at Carey's outstretched hand but ignored it, making the younger woman a tiny, barely polite bow instead.  "Obviously I can't say the same," she replied coolly.  Her sharp dark eyes took in the decidedly non-regulation garb Sage and Carey wore --- Sage in a T-shirt and jeans, Carey in a leotard and jazz pants.  "I see you've decided to dispense with the traditional gear, Seiji-chan.  What would Grandfather say?"

      "Well, he's not here, is he?" Sage retorted.  "Carey asked me to teach her some of the basics of _kendo_ but she doesn't own any of the gear, and what does it matter what we're wearing, anyway?  What are you doing here, Yayoi?"

      Yayoi raised an eyebrow at the barely concealed irritation in Sage's tone.  "I'm in town for a surgical conference, and I thought I'd take some time to practice.  The man at the front desk told me you were here, so I decided to come see you.  You haven't been home in a long while…although I suppose I can see why," she added, raking a glance over Carey.

      "I have a job and a life here, Yayoi.  It keeps me busy," Sage replied, trying hard to suppress his annoyance.  "Is there something you wanted, or did you just come here to needle me?"

      "Actually, I was hoping you'd be interested in sparring for a bit.  That is, of course, unless you have more important things to do," Yayoi said, again glancing meaningfully at Carey, who was watching the whole exchange in thoughtful silence.

      Sage's lips tightened.  He knew he really couldn't refuse Yayoi's challenge, not without delivering a tremendous insult.  And as tempting as it was…he could just imagine what would happen when word got back to his grandfather as it undoubtedly would.  "Fine," he said shortly, knowing he wasn't exactly being gracious but not really caring.  "But not for too long --- Carey and I have a reception to go to tonight."

      Yayoi smiled, rather like a cat that had gotten hold of the canary.  "Just let me warm up and finish dressing."

      "And while she's doing that, I think I'll hit the showers," Carey spoke up.  She drew Sage aside.  "Don't show her up _too_ badly, _mi amor_," she added in a low voice.  "She is your sister, after all.  And _don't_ let that bitch get to you."

      Sage smiled reluctantly.  "I thought you said you wanted to kick her ass."

      "In this instance, I think I'd rather let you do it.  This is your specialty, not mine," Carey replied, drawing his head down to kiss him sweetly.  Sage returned the kiss, not caring if Yayoi was watching.

      "Don't be long," he told her.  Carey's eyes twinkled as she winked at him and headed for the showers.  Sage watched her go, smiling tenderly.

      "So it would seem my _otōto _has finally overcome his shyness around girls," came a silky remark in Japanese.  He turned to see Yayoi watching him with a smirk on her lips.

      "A shyness largely caused by _you_, may I remind you," Sage retorted, also in Japanese.  "I haven't forgotten how you used to torment me all those years ago, Yayoi.  It must really irk you that I've finally found someone who isn't intimidated by you."

      "A foreigner…an American, no less," Yayoi said dismissively.  "No manners."

      "Actually, her manners are better than yours," Sage replied coldly.  "At least Carey was polite, which is more than I can say for you.  And before you get on your 'Japanese superiority' high horse, you should remember that you and I are both half-American, thanks to our father."

      Yayoi's eyebrows rose.  "You're really serious about her, aren't you?  Could it be that my baby brother has fallen in love?"  When Sage didn't reply, Yayoi went on, "I don't approve of her, Seiji-chan…and neither would _ojii-sama_."

      "You know something, Yayoi?  I really don't give a damn what either you or Grandfather think."

      "I can remember a time when you wouldn't _dare_ say that," Yayoi challenged.

      "Yes, so can I," Sage told his sister calmly.  "And thankfully that time is long gone, sister of mine.  I'm not the same little kid you used to torture anymore.  Oh, and if you're thinking of getting back at me by telling Carey about that enforced cross-dressing debacle when I was little, she already knows…_and_ she's threatened to kick your ass for it.  And I should warn you out of fairness, Yayoi --- Carey may look small, but she grew up on the mean streets of Miami and she has a sixth-degree black belt in karate.  So don't think she's going to be a pushover."  He smiled at his sister's astounded look.  "Shouldn't you be warming up?" he asked sweetly. 

      When Carey returned, the Date siblings' sparring match was already underway.  She sat on a bench along the wall and watched in fascination.  Even with Sage's patient tutoring, Carey still didn't really understand a lot that went on in a _kendo_ match, but she knew experts when she saw them.  And it was obvious to even her relatively untrained eyes that Yayoi Date was very good.  She was fast and supple, and wielded the bamboo sword as if she had been born to it --- which she probably had, Carey mused.  A lesser opponent would have been defeated in no time.  But Sage deflected Yayoi's attacks with the fluid grace and skill of a master, and before long he had far outscored her.  Yayoi was good…but Sage was _better_, Carey thought proudly. 

      Yayoi pulled off her mask.  "Well, Seiji, I see you haven't lost any of your skills."

"Did you think I would?" Sage retorted, and Carey took a perverse satisfaction in the fact that while Yayoi was flushed and breathing hard, Sage looked as if he'd just been for a leisurely stroll around the block.

Yayoi smiled faintly.  "Of course not --- Grandfather taught you well.  You really should come home to visit sometime and show him how well you've continued your training.  Oh, and you should bring your _friend_," she added with just the slightest trace of disdain.  "I'm sure the family would love to meet her…especially Grandfather."

_When it snows in hell_, Sage thought.  "Maybe sometime," was all he said.

Yayoi's smile deepened into a knowing smirk.  "You're not _ashamed_ of her, are you?" she insinuated silkily.

"Yayoi, you really are a bitch.  And by the way, 'her' name is Carey," Sage reminded his sister.

"Call me whatever you like, _otōto_.  I at least take my friends home to meet our parents."  She gathered her gear and headed for the door, but stopped in the doorway.  "You should be careful, Seiji.  You don't want any untoward…_gossip_ filtering back to the family, now do you?"  And with that parting shot, she was gone.

~~~~

      The reception at Kazuhara Gallery was in full swing.  Carey stood to one side, alternately watching Sage and fending off the advances of a small, rat-faced CEO who was at least two inches shorter than she was and who didn't seem to understand the word "no".  She watched as Sage smiled and bowed or shook hands politely and answered questions about the exhibit --- some sort of abstract art that to Carey looked like finger paintings, but to each his own, she reasoned.  She saw the people Sage spoke to smile and bow in return --- and she saw the way they smirked behind his back.  Some weren't even that subtle, but snubbed him outright, talking past him to Matsuka.  With each rejection Carey saw Sage's face tighten and his manner become even more cold and formal.  Ninety minutes into the party, he might as well have been sculpted from ice.

  Carey's heart ached for him.  The encounter with Yayoi earlier had left him seething, but all of her efforts to get him to talk about it had been gently but firmly rebuffed, and she had finally been forced to drop the subject.  Whatever Yayoi had said to Sage had obviously upset him, but he was not going to talk about it, and after being his lover for four months Carey knew when it was useless to push him.  So she simply watched and waited and silently cursed Japanese bigotry to hell.

"_Gaijin_," a voice hissed in her ear, making her start.  She turned her head to see Chairman Rat --- _oh, damn it all, not him again_ --- standing beside her, stripping her with his beady black eyes.  "What?" she asked.

"That one over there," the man replied, indicating Sage with a dismissive wave.  "_Gaijin_ --- foreigner.  He tries to act Japanese, but he never will be."

Carey glared at the man.  "He was born here.  He's lived here all his life.  One of his ancestors _founded_ goddamned Sendai.  He's probably more Japanese than _you_ are.  Besides, if you hate foreigners so much, why do you keep hitting on me?"  She was well aware that she was being rude but she really didn't care.

The rodent-faced man chuckled and leaned closer, and Carey recoiled from the stench of alcohol.  "That's different.  Western women are considered quite the catch --- not to marry, of course, but for _other_ needs.  And lovely women like you are always sought after."  As Carey debated whether to dump her drink on his head or simply knee him in the groin, the man continued, "You're a dancer, aren't you?  I'm sure you've had wealthy and powerful men make you offers before.  Don't be coy, my girl.  I can do a lot for you."  He placed a hand suggestively on her shoulder.

Sage looked up at that moment and saw his lover's predicament.  Carey's eyes pleaded for rescue, but instead Sage's eyes hardened and his expression grew cold and distant.  He turned away to speak to an elderly woman, and Carey's temper boiled over.  _Well, screw _this, she thought furiously.

Chairman Rat was still rubbing her shoulder.  "Why don't we go talk about this somewhere a bit more…_private_?" he oozed.

Carey knocked his hand away with a lightning-fast motion.  "If you're so rich and powerful, go buy yourself a personality…and some higher heels," she snarled and stalked away, leaving him gaping after her like a gaffed fish.  She threaded her way through the crowd to Sage's side and caught his arm.  "We need to talk," she told him.

"Not now, Carey," came the emotionless reply.

"_Now, _Sage," Carey said in a low, dangerous voice.  Sage's lips tightened, but he made some excuse to one of his coworkers and led Carey back to his office, well away from the party.  He shut the door behind him and folded his arms across his chest.  "Well?" he demanded icily.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Carey lashed out.  "You've been stonewalling me ever since your bitch sister showed up this afternoon.  You drag me to this party with you even though you know I hate them, then you ignore me the whole night.  And when I needed your help with Rodent Boy back there, you just look away like you don't even give a damn.  You tell me you love me.  Is this how you prove it?"

"What exactly do you want me to do?" Sage retorted, as coldly as before.  "Demand that he remove his filthy hands from my woman?  Start a fight to avenge your honor?  If you wanted him gone so badly, Carey, I'm sure you could have handled it on your own…unless you _didn't_ really want him gone."

Carey's eyes narrowed.  "You son of a bitch.  When in all this time have I _ever_ made you think that I would be unfaithful to you?"

"Carey, I really don't have time for your temper tantrums now.  I'm supposed to be working."

      "Working?" Carey shot back.  "You think those people are the slightest bit interested in anything you have to say?  Wake up, Sage.  To all those 'real' Japanese people out there, you're a curiosity at best…and a joke at worst."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Sage.  I know you've seen how they ignore you, how they laugh at you behind your back.  They think it's hilarious the way you're trying to be a proper _nihonjin_, you with your blonde hair and your white skin and those purple eyes --- purple eyes are a sign of the demon, did you know that?" Carey taunted.  "It's a losing battle trying to fit in, Sage.  Why do you even bother?"

"Because I have to," Sage snapped.  "This isn't the States, Carey.  Here you don't do your own thing.  Here you either fit in or you fail.  Simple as that.  You of all people should understand that --- after all, ballet is one of the most regimented art forms there is."

"Which is why I'm so _un_regimented when I'm not dancing."

"And which is why you'll always be an outsider," Sage told her flatly.  "You'll never fit in here."

"And neither will you," Carey retorted, her golden eyes flashing.  "You think those people will accept you if you shut down all your emotions and become some sort of perfectly-mannered robot?  Think again.  No matter how perfect and polite you are, no matter how noble your lineage or how well you play their game,  you'll never really be one of them.  Go ahead, do everything they ask of you.  Follow every rule in the book; it won't matter.  _They will never accept you._  And if you want to know why, you don't have to look any farther than the nearest mirror." 

Sage had gone very still.  "Damn you," he whispered.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?  It must really eat away at you knowing that your sister will always be accepted here while you won't.  You and I, we're both outsiders.  The difference is that I've learned to accept that fact, and the sooner you do the better off you'll be."

"Don't you tell me how to live my life," Sage snarled, and Carey saw the beginnings of a fierce light in those violet eyes.  "You don't know me as well as you think you do, and when it comes to fitting in, I can do it a hell of a lot better than you ever will."

Carey set her hands on her hips.  "You think?" she challenged.  "Don't kid yourself, Sage.  That mask you wear isn't fooling anyone.  And before you start in about the mask I have to wear as a dancer, let me remind you that at least I know where my mask ends and I begin.  I can tell the difference between my public face and my real one.  Can you?  Or have you repressed your real self for so long you've forgotten you ever had one?"

Sage glared daggers at her.  The ice was cracking in earnest now.  "You _bitch_," he hissed. 

"Well, now, isn't that interesting," Carey replied sarcastically.  "When a man speaks his mind, even if it's something nobody wants to hear, he's honest and straightforward.  When a woman does it, she's a bitch.  And this from a man who hates lies and hypocrisy.  But when you get right down to it, Sage, you're as big a hypocrite as anyone else.  Maybe bigger, because you refuse to see it."  Sage's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Carey moved in for the kill.  "Let me know when you feel like being _human_," she said scornfully and started to leave.

Sage was across the room in a flash, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her roughly to face him.  "Oh, no, you don't," he growled.  "You started this fight.  You're not going to just walk away."

"You want to hit me, don't you?" Carey goaded him.  "You'd like nothing better than to hurt me the way I hurt you, but you're too goddamned _noble_ to do it.  Well, don't hold back, Sage --- take your best shot."

"Shut up," Sage snapped.  She was hitting way too close to home.

"Why don't you make me?" Carey retorted, and Sage had to fight to keep a hold on his temper.  Carey saw it, and a look of disdain flashed across her face --- just before her hand hit his cheek in a stinging slap.  The sound echoed through the small office like the crack of a gunshot.

That did it.  Sage's control snapped; he dug his fingers into Carey's shoulders and shook her until her teeth rattled, then yanked her to him in a bruising kiss.  But instead of pushing him away, her arms wrapped around him and she pulled him closer, meeting him with an equal ferocity.  A red haze descended over Sage's consciousness; his rage and alienation and hurt shifted, transmuted into a uncontrollable dark hunger, a fierce, primal urge to take and be taken.  His jacket was suddenly incredibly confining and he struggled frantically out of it, never breaking contact with Carey's mouth.  Her nails raked at his back; he could feel the sting through the fabric of his shirt.  He shoved her back against his desk and felt her legs wrap around his waist, ensnaring him.  Something fell to the carpeted floor with a muffled crash.  _There goes my inbox_, he thought vaguely, and then rational thought became pretty much impossible.

~~~~

"Miyako, have you seen Sage?" Matsuka asked the gallery's secretary.

Miyako Kazue shrugged.  "He said his girlfriend wasn't feeling well, and he took her back to his office to rest.  I wish my husband was that considerate."

"Hmmm."  Matsuka looked down the hallway leading to the offices.  Sage had seemed somewhat unhappy tonight and she couldn't blame him; she had seen the snubs and smirks thrown his way and it had angered her.  And while she knew that Sage wasn't one to sulk…maybe she had better make sure that everything was all right.

"Kazuhara-san --- just the person I wanted to see," a voice boomed behind her.  Matsuka knew the man; head of an electronics company, with a great deal of money and a great lack of taste.  "That painting, the large canvas over there…it would make a perfect addition to my collection."

Matsuka smiled.  "Shiomari-san has excellent taste."  She had to keep herself from laughing out loud as she said it.  "But I believe the artist has reserved that piece for himself."

"Nonsense.  Come, Kazuhara-san --- perhaps we can persuade him to change his mind.  Even genius has to eat, ne?"  Matsuka's smile widened as Mr. Shiomari steered her over to where the artist stood.  Oh, yes, she could certainly persuade him…that piece was one of the ones he had _wanted_ to go.  And if it netted the gallery a hefty commission in the process --- well, so much the better.

Her missing assistant was forgotten, and the party continued.

~~~~

      "You know, I'm going to have to write the people who make this so-called 'long-lasting' lipstick," Carey said as she checked her makeup.  "It may hold up through eating and drinking, but it's totally useless against wild spur-of-the-moment sex on my boyfriend's desk."

      "I can't believe we just did that," Sage groaned, looking thoroughly chagrined.

      "Stop looking so guilty.  It's not like anyone heard us, and we straightened up the desk."

      "That's not the point.  I've _never _behaved like that before," Sage told her.  "I don't know what the hell got into me."

      Carey shrugged.  "First time for everything, honey.  Besides, you're still on edge from that little clash with your sister today.  You needed to vent, and, well…this was certainly one of the more enjoyable ways to do it," she finished with a sly smile.

      Sage looked at her sharply, comprehension dawning in his violet eyes.  "You started that fight on purpose," he said slowly.  Now it was Carey's turn to look guilty, and Sage knew he had hit the nail squarely on the head.  "My God, you _did,_" he accused, his anger returning.  "You deliberately provoked me into arguing with you and losing my temper and --- and practically ravishing you on top of my _desk!_" he yelled.

      "Well, not the ravishing on top of the desk part, but…."

      "_Why?_"

       Carey sighed.  "Because I knew that you were still mad from dealing with your hell-bitch of a sister, and then those narrow-minded bigots out there were snubbing you on top of that.  I could see you getting angrier and angrier and you just kept shoving it down.  You needed to get that anger out --- and I figured I was a safer target than most," she said in a small voice.

      "And what if I had hit you instead?" Sage raged at her.  "You've never seen me truly angry, Carey, you have no idea what I'm capable of.  What if I had really hurt you?"

      "I could have stopped you," Carey said, but suddenly she didn't sound quite so sure.

      "You don't know that," Sage replied flatly.   "Trust me, my love, you _really_ don't know that."

      "I _do _trust you," Carey said softly.  "That's why I took a chance.  Sage, I didn't mean to embarrass you or anything, but I saw how you were trying so hard to be accepted by those people out there and it wasn't working and you just kept icing over and I could tell it hurt you so you just tried harder, and…and finally I just couldn't stand it anymore," she told him, the words tumbling out in a rush.

      Sage stared at her for a moment, then said, "You were right --- we _do _have to talk."  He snagged her swiftly around the waist and sat down in his desk chair, pulling Carey into his lap.  "And we're going to do that right now."

      "What in --- Sage, let me go."

      "No," came the firm reply.  "I've seen this before, Carey --- there is something about the idea of enforced conformity that freaks you out to no end.  And you are going to tell me what that something is if we have to sit here all night."

      "You wouldn't dare."

      "You think not?  Try me," Sage challenged her. 

      "Sage, let _go_.  You're squashing me," Carey protested, struggling against the arms that imprisoned her like steel bands.

      "Not until you explain."

      "Damn you, Sage…all right, fine."  She subsided and glowered sullenly at him for a moment, then sighed.  "When I was fourteen, I was awarded a scholarship to study in New York at the School of American Ballet," she began.  "It's the most prestigious ballet school in America, if not the world --- training ground for the New York City Ballet, _Balanchine's_ school.  And they don't take just anyone; you have to audition, you can't just walk in off the street and start taking lessons.  Out of the hundreds that audition every year, only a select few make the cut…and I was one of them.  Needless to say, I was over the moon.  I couldn't wait to get to New York and show those teachers just how good I really was.  My parents couldn't go with me, so I'd be living with a girl I had known a few years before and her mother; Monica was a year older than me and she was also going to SAB, and I thought it would be so great to have a friend there.  It was every young dancer's dream, and I was going to live it.

      "I got my first surprise when I arrived in New York.  I barely recognized Monica…she had gotten incredibly thin and fragile-looking.  But when I asked if she was okay, she told me very proudly that that was what the teachers at SAB liked to see.  They wanted their dancers very thin, very delicate.  I'll never forget the way she looked at me and said that I really should consider getting rid of my extra weight, otherwise I'd _never_ make it at SAB.  Monica had gotten very obsessed with food and her weight, and her mother didn't help any, always telling her not to eat this or that because she'd get fat.  My friend who used to laugh and imitate our teachers behind their backs and _fouetté_ until she was dizzy because she wanted to see what it felt like had turned into this vain, neurotic stranger whose hip bones nearly poked holes in her jeans, who counted every bite she ate _and _how many times she chewed it and who couldn't eat a single Hershey's Kiss without doing penance.  But I thought it was just some weird Monica thing, that maybe she wasn't confident enough in her dancing and this was how she compensated.  I wouldn't have that problem, though, because I _knew_ I was special; everyone always told me so.  And I had made it to SAB, hadn't I?

         "My first day of class, I was ready to go.  My teacher was this elderly Russian woman who had danced with the Kirov in the 1930's before she defected to the States.  I don't even remember her name; we always just called her 'Madame'.  I took my place at the barre and listened to her instructions and then made sure I did exactly as she said.  I listened to her as she walked along the barre correcting the other dancers and I corrected myself; leg straight, ribs up, chin lifted, shoulders down.  By the time she got to me I thought she'd finally see something worthy of at least a nod.  So there I was, pulled up in a straight line, my hand just barely touching the barre, my leg extended to its fullest in what I thought was the most beautiful _developpé_ I had ever seen…and along comes Madame."

      Carey stared into space, her eyes darkening at the memory.  "Madame always carried this thin, light little cane that she'd use to beat time or demonstrate alignment.  I still remember the way it sounded when she'd wave it throught the air, that soft little _swish,_ like she was conducting an orchestra.  She stopped beside me and I stood there, straight and tall, just waiting for her approval.  She stared at me for a second…and then that cane hit my thigh.  'Fat', she said.  She hit my ribs.  'Fat.'  She hit my backside.  'Fat, fat, fat,' she told me.  She didn't hit hard enough to bruise, just enough to sting.  She hit my upper arm, my back, my other leg, all the while telling me that I was fat.  Then she gave me the most contemptuous look I'd ever seen, like I disgusted her beyond words...and she walked away.  She didn't look at me or say another word to me for the rest of the class; it was like I didn't even exist.  And if I didn't exist for Madame, then I didn't exist for anyone else, either.  By the time class was over I just wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere…so much for my grand arrival at SAB."

      "She thought you were _fat_?" Sage asked incredulously.  "Was she blind?  Carey, I don't think you've ever been fat in your life."

      "And I wasn't then," Carey agreed quietly.  "What I _was_ was a developing fourteen-year-old girl.  I had breasts and hips and, well, curves --- small ones, maybe, but they were still curves.  And back home in Miami, that was a good thing; Hispanic women are traditionally shapely.  Even the skinniest Hispanic woman will have some curves to her, because that's the way our men like us."

      "Works for me," Sage murmured, his hand creeping along her hip.

      Carey slapped his hand away.  "Do you want to hear this or not?" 

      "Sorry.  I'll behave."

      Carey sighed and shook her head.  "Maybe if it had just been Monica telling me I was too heavy I wouldn't have minded so much.  After all, it's one thing to have a fifteen-year-old with a complex telling you you're fat.  But I was a lonely young girl far away from home and the people who had always encouraged me, and in my eyes the teachers at SAB were the closest thing to God.  They came from the Kirov, the Bolshoi, the NYCB.  They had danced for Mr. B.; some of them had danced _with _him.  They were the ultimate authorities, and I was desperate to please them.  If they said I was too heavy, then I was too heavy.  If they thought I was too flashy, well, then, I was doing something wrong.  They wanted someone quiet, demure, and obedient, someone who would do exactly as she was told and never question or complain.  _That _was what a _real _dancer should be.

      "So I tried.  I toned down my dancing, making sure I was no better or no worse than anyone else, not calling attention to myself.  I watched my diet more carefully, and I lost weight.  And for the first time the teachers started to praise what I was doing.  For the first time, they noticed me in a _good_ way.  So I tried harder.  I skipped meals, I practiced every day, I devoted myself body and soul to ballet.  If I hurt, I suffered in silence.  If I was hungry, I refused to give in to what I saw as a weakness.  If I was unhappy, I fought back the tears and smiled anyway.  I had become the perfect little ballet robot.

      "Six months into my stay in New York, my parents came to visit me.  The looks on their faces when they first saw me --- I thought my mother was going to faint.  I had gone from being 5'3" and 100 pounds to being 5'3" and _75_ pounds.  My arms were like sticks, my collarbone stuck out, and you could count every one of my ribs.  I barely had the energy to get through my daily classes, never mind having any kind of social life.  Some days my daily food intake was yogurt and an apple, and I often worried that even that was too much.  Mom and Dad were horrified.  They kept telling me that something was wrong, that I had a problem.  But I had been more or less on my own for six months, and I knew everything.  The teachers at SAB approved of me; what did my _parents_ know?  So I kept insisting that I was just fine, that nothing was wrong with me --- right until the moment I passed out on the stairs at SAB."

      Sage's eyes widened.  Carey went on, "I was lucky.  I walked away from that little episode with only a lot of bruises.  But it gave me something to think about.  I realized that I could have been seriously hurt, and that would have derailed if not destroyed my dancing career.  I had terrified my parents, I felt like hell, I barely even recognized myself in the mirror anymore.  I had given up every little bit of joy in my life, and for what?  My life now revolved around calories and my weight and whether I was thinner than my classmates, not around actually _dancing_.  My parents sent me to a psychologist who diagnosed me as having both anorexia nervosa and depression.  He recommended that I quit ballet, but I knew if I did that it would only make me feel worse and we'd all be right back where we started.

      "My parents gave me an ultimatum.  I could stay in New York, but not with Monica and her mom; Monica was anorexic as well and my parents thought it wasn't a healthy environment.  Mom arranged for me to stay with one of her old ballet contacts, a woman with a husband and two kids, neither of whom danced.  I was to eat what Mrs. Santos fed me and I was to get myself back up to a reasonable, healthy weight and stay there.  I also had to see a shrink every week, a woman who specialized in adolescents with eating disorders.  I couldn't miss an appointment for anything less than a dire, life-threatening emergency.  If I broke even one of these rules, even once, I would be on my way back to Miami.

      "At first I was furious.  I didn't understand how they could do this to me; didn't they see how important it was for me to dance at SAB, to _establish _myself?  So what if I didn't eat much --- I was going to be a _ballerina_.  But thankfully I managed to inherit a hefty dose of their common sense.  If I kept on the way I had been doing, I'd kill or at the very least ruin myself, and that would kind of mess up my stellar career.  I wanted to enjoy dancing again, and I couldn't do that when it exhausted me just to climb the stairs.  And I had to decide what was more important --- being liked by a group of crusty old ballet teachers who would only know me for a short while, or liking myself for the rest of my life?  So I made up my mind; I was going to keep dancing, I still loved it, but from now on I was going to do it on _my _terms.  I gained my weight back and got healthy again, and suddenly I could _dance _again.  I could do the huge jumps, the endless turns, I could get through a class and not hold back and still have energy left over while everyone else looked about ready to collapse.  And the teachers noticed --- now, ironically, they complimented me on my elevation, my energy, my risk-taking, when before they had told me to tone it down.  By the time I left SAB two years later, I promised myself that I would never fall into the trap of trying to please everyone else again, not if it meant losing myself.  I would try to fit in as best I could, but in the end I still had to respect the woman I saw in the mirror every morning.  If I couldn't do that…well, goodbye conformity."

      Carey sighed.  "I suppose sometimes I go a little overboard.  But I can't help it --- I look at those schoolkids forced into the same mold, I see you trying so hard to belong, and it scares me, because I know where it can lead.  Even now, I still have days when I look at you and wonder what you see in me, days when I think, _Why can't I be more like everyone else?  _You know, maybe if I were quieter or less assertive or if my dancing wasn't so flashy, maybe people would accept me, maybe I'd actually be worthy of you.  But I just can't do it…I can't take that risk again.  I'm not sure I'm strong enough to win this time," she mused.

      Sage traced two fingers along her jawline.  "Carey, I love you just the way you are…you know that," he said gently.

      Carey shrugged.  "I know, but I'm still afraid.  Sage, when I look at you, I see so much light and passion and…and _life.  _But you smother it behind that perfect, emotionless mask because that's what other people demand from you; no one will accept the real you.  I want to give you what you've given me: someone who accepts you as you are, somewhere where you don't have to be perfect all the time.  You try so hard and give so much to live up to everyone else's ideal…I just want you to feel like there's someone in this world who thinks you're _already _ideal," she finished softly.

      Sage felt his throat constrict at the honest emotion in her words, and for the first time in his life he had absolutely no idea what to say.  He took her face between his hands and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, then rested his forehead against hers and just held her close.  

      A knock on the door brought them both back to reality.  Matsuka poked her head around the edge of the door.  "Sage…ah, there you are," she said.  She opened the door more fully and walked into the office as Sage and Carey quickly got to their feet.  "The guests are starting to leave and I didn't want to accidentally lock you in here all night."

      "Oh, no…Matsuka, I'm really sorry," Sage apologized.  "I've been hiding in here all night when I should have been helping you out there."

      "It's all right," Matsuka reassured him with a smile.  "Miyako told me that Carey had taken ill, and you haven't been gone that long.  Things were starting to wind down anyway when you left.  But Mr. Takashi would like to talk to you about a painting he has his eye on --- he says he was very impressed with your knowledge.  I just told him he had better not be impressed enough to try and lure you away from my gallery," she said archly, and Sage had to smile.

      "Not much chance of that," he replied.  "I'll go catch Mr. Takashi before he leaves.  Carey, will you be okay?"

      Carey nodded.  "I'll be fine.  Go on, Sage --- I've kept you from your duties long enough."  Sage gently touched her cheek and left the office.

      Matsuka eyed Carey speculatively.  "Are you feeling better, dear?"

      "Yes, thank you, Kazuhara-san.  I really do have to apologize for dragging Sage away like that."

      Matsuka dismissed the younger woman's apologies with a wave of her hand.  "Nonsense.  Sage is an excellent worker and the best assistant I've ever had.  I can't be angry because he has a good heart as well."  She gave Carey a meaningful look.  "That's a good man you have there, Navarro-san…a _very _good man."

      Carey gazed down the hall in the direction Sage had gone.  "Don't I know it," she agreed simply.

~~~~

      The next day, Sage dialed his family's home in Sendai.  "Hi, Mom…it's me.  How would you feel about getting the family together soon?  There's someone I'd like you to meet."

~~~~

    "I don't know how you manage to stay so calm at a time like this," Sage remarked.

      Carey gazed serenely out the passenger-side window of Sage's car.  "Muscle memory.  When you've been performing for almost twenty years, you learn how to look very calm and composed, even when you feel like you're about to throw up.  It comes in handy right about now."  She slanted a glance at her lover.  "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you this antsy.  We're meeting your family, sweetheart, not facing a firing squad."

      "Somehow I think I'd prefer the firing squad," Sage muttered.  "It's just that I haven't brought a girl home in years, and to make matters worse, Yayoi has a head start on us.  God only knows what she's been telling Mom and Dad."

      "Probably that I'm somewhere between Mata Hari and the Whore of Babylon, and that I've corrupted you beyond all hope of redemption," Carey replied wryly.  "She doesn't really like me, does she?"

Sage had to smile at that understatement.  "Don't take it personally.  Yayoi doesn't really like _anyone_.  I think she only tolerates me and Satsuki because we're related to her."

"And you have my heartfelt sympathy for _that_ little accident of birth," Carey said with feeling.  Sage laughed.

      The car turned into the driveway leading to the Date home.  Carey eyed the sprawling building askance.  "My God, Sage, this place is huge.  You didn't tell me you lived in a _compound_."

      Sage shrugged.  "Actually, most of it is the dojo.  The house itself really isn't all that large."  He parked the car and got out to open her door.  "Ready?"

Carey slipped her hand into his and unfolded gracefully to her full height.  "Hey, if I can dance _Romeo and Juliet_ for the Emperor of Japan, I can certainly handle meeting your folks.  Or at least that's what I keep telling myself," she finished with a rueful little smile.

Sage smiled and kissed her hand.  "Then it's showtime, _koibito_."  He offered her his arm and they headed up the neatly-raked gravel walk to the house.  

A squeal of  "_Ni-chan!_" broke the early afternoon calm, and Sage and Carey both stopped in their tracks as a small, raven-haired young woman hurtled out of the house and launched herself at Sage.  Sage caught her easily, lifting her off her feet as she threw her arms around his neck.  "Satsuki, you haven't changed a bit," he teased her.

"Don't fuss at me, Seiji _ni-chan.  _It's not my fault you never come home to visit," Satsuki Date scolded as her brother set her gently on her feet.  She looked over at the young woman who stood quietly by Sage's side, watching the siblings' reunion with a wistful smile.  "Is this Carey?"

      Sage made the introductions as Satsuki eyed Carey with open interest.  "Mom and Dad and Grandfather are all waiting for you, Sage.  Yayoi's even here," she added with a roll of her eyes that eloquently expressed her opinion of the eldest Date sibling.  "She's been regaling Mom with tales of your 'American girlfriend'."

      "Really?  I'm surprised she can even remember Carey's name," Sage replied dryly.  "She certainly couldn't manage it for the all of ten minutes she actually spent with her."

      Satsuki shrugged.  "You know Yayoi," she said matter-of-factly.

      Indeed he did, and Sage resolved to have it out with his older sister at some time in the very near future.  But there was no time for that now; they entered the house and went into the living room, where the rest of the Date family awaited them.

      Sage had to admit that he had been concerned about introducing his feisty, no-nonsense lover to his rather proper and formal family.  But he needn't have worried; Carey was a true professional.  She greeted his family courteously, apologizing for any lapses in etiquette she might make; she was still learning, she explained quietly.  She wore a simple sweater and skirt that looked more expensive than it really was and had drawn her hair back at her temples, letting the rest hang loose to her shoulders.  The overall effect was one of grace, breeding, and classic elegance, and Sage could not have been prouder of her.  He squeezed her hand as the family headed into dinner.  "I love you," he whispered.  Carey returned the squeeze and winked at him.

      Dinner went better than Sage could have hoped.  Carey set out to charm most of the Date family --- Yayoi she didn't even bother with --- and for the most part she succeeded.  Jason Date was delighted when he found out that Carey's father was a homicide detective in Miami; his son could do worse than to date a fellow cop's daughter, he decided.  Megumi Date was impressed with the young dancer's elegant manners and in particular her patience with Satsuki, who kept pestering Carey for details on the fascinating world of professional ballet.  

If there was a dark spot anywhere, Sage thought, it was his grandfather and Yayoi.  Yayoi he wasn't too worried about; after all, he hadn't expected her to welcome Carey with open arms.  He was actually surprised that Yayoi was being --- for her --- rather polite, contenting herself with small digs at him and at Carey, the latter of which were neatly deflected.  But Masuhiro Date had returned Carey's greeting with icy politeness and then had remained ominously silent throughout the meal, his unspoken disapproval casting an awkward pall over the table.  Sage knew his grandfather still had ambitions of arranging a match for him, but he was determined not to give the old man the chance.  Carey was behaving beautifully, and there was nothing about her that Grandfather could take exception to, Sage thought fiercely --- except that she wasn't Japanese.

      After dinner, the group returned to the living room.  Masuhiro listened to the conversation for a while, then spoke up.  "So, Seiji…when do you intend to fulfill your responsibility to this family and come home?" he boomed.

Sage glanced at Carey.  "We've been through this before, _ojii-sama,_" he replied patiently.  "I have a job in the city as well as a home there.  You don't need me right now, and I enjoy working at the gallery."

"A mere diversion," the old man scoffed.  "This dojo is our family's life, our legacy.  Your place is here."

"Maybe your life revolves around _kendo_, but mine doesn't," Sage retorted.  Carey squeezed his hand.  "Sage," she murmured warningly.

Grandfather Date turned his attention on her.  "And you, young woman?" he demanded.  "Do you practice _kendo_?"

      "Seiji is teaching her," Yayoi murmured slyly.  Sage shot her a poisonous glare.

"Actually, it's more of a _kendo_-appreciation course," Carey replied, trying to step into the breach.  "I have a partner who's an enthusiast, and this helps me understand what he and Sage are talking about.  Personally, I prefer hand-to-hand fighting methods, but I can certainly appreciate the hard work that it takes to become as skilled as Sage is."

      "Carey has a sixth-degree black belt in karate," Sage told his grandfather.  

Masuhiro ignored him.  "So you have no intention of becoming a _kendo_ practitioner," he said with obvious disapproval.

Sage seethed inwardly, but Carey smiled.  "Well, sir, Sage has no intention of joining NBT's _corps de ballet_, but we can each appreciate and support the other's work, so I think it's a fair trade," she explained politely.  Satsuki hid a grin behind her hand and Jason Date's lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement.  _Nicely done, my love,_ Sage thought.  He knew what his grandfather was trying to do and it infuriated him, but he couldn't confront the old man without embarrassing both himself and Carey. 

      Megumi Date, seeing the displeasure on her father's face, quickly attempted to smooth things over by changing the subject.  They chatted about neutral topics for a while, but Sage felt the unease in the air.  He was sorely tempted to make their excuses and leave; he knew the trial wasn't over yet.

      Suddenly Yayoi decided to enter the conversation.  "Isn't it an American custom to show a guest old family photos?" she asked guilelessly.  "Perhaps Carey-san would like to see some of ours."

"Yayoi, I put those albums away," Megumi told her eldest daughter.

"That's all right.  I have some with me," Yayoi replied.  Sage felt his stomach churn --- he didn't know what Yayoi was up to, but he was positive it wasn't good.  Yayoi drew a small photograph from her purse and handed it to Carey.  "This is one of my favorites," she said sweetly.

Sage glanced at the photo and froze.  It was the old picture Yayoi had taken of him when he was five and had been forced to dress as a girl, the one where Yayoi, then ten, had tied brightly colored ribbons in his blonde hair.  _Damn you to hell, Yayoi,_ Sage thought furiously, torn between nausea and rage.  He reached for the picture, but Carey's tight grasp on it stopped him.  Surprised, he looked at his lover.

Carey's face could have been a mask for all the expression she showed.  She stared at the photo for a long moment, unmoving except for the slight rise and fall of her breathing.  Then she slowly raised her gaze to Yayoi, whose triumphant smirk quickly faded at the blazing hatred in those golden eyes.  If looks could kill, Yayoi would have been vaporized on the spot.  "Sage told me once about how you used to torment him," Carey finally said, very quietly and evenly.  "I promised both myself and him that if I ever met you I would kick your tail for that.  But it's considered rude to demolish you in your parents' home, so I'll have to settle for this."  And with that, she deliberately ripped the photo in half, then ripped it in half again.

      The silence was deafening.  Sage saw the shock on the faces of his family; Yayoi and his mother had both gone white, his father looked grim, Satsuki's eyes were as big as dinner plates, and his grandfather wore an expression like a thundercloud.  Carey placed the remains of the photo on the coffee table and rose gracefully to her feet.  She fixed that laser-beam glare on Yayoi for a moment longer, then turned to the rest of the Dates.  "Thank you for your hospitality," she said quietly.  "Please excuse me."  She bowed courteously to them, then left the room without another word or even a glance at Sage.

 No one moved or spoke for several heartbeats.  Finally Masuhiro Date broke the silence.  "Yayoi, Satsuki, you will both leave the room," he ordered.  "Seiji, you will remain."  When Yayoi and Satsuki had left --- rather hurriedly, Sage noted --- Masuhiro turned his attention to his grandson.  "That girl is unsuitable, and you are forbidden to see her again," he commanded without preamble.  "I will begin arranging a match for you at once.  You will be married to a proper _nihonjin_ girl of good family before the end of the year; I will see to it."

      "You will not."  The words sliced through the air like a razor blade.

      Masuhiro Date looked thunderstruck.  "You dare to defy me, Seiji?  You will do as you are told."

      "No," Sage replied coldly.  "Not this time."  He rose to his feet and faced his grandfather.  "What is it about Carey that really bothers you, Grandfather --- the fact that she's not Japanese or the fact that she stood up to you and Yayoi?"

      "Her behavior was shameful.  She disgraced you and this family."

"No, Grandfather.  _You_ disgraced us, you and Yayoi, the way you acted toward Carey.  You were determined to dislike her the minute she walked into this house.  You didn't even give her a chance!" Sage retorted angrily.  "Then Yayoi pulled out that damned picture and you didn't do a thing to stop her, you never have.  Carey only did what one of you should have done a long time ago," he added, glaring accusingly at his family.  "She behaved a lot better than you did, and you have the nerve to call _her_ unsuitable?  God, you're a hypocrite."

      "Enough, Seiji," Grandfather thundered.  "This family has indulged your whims for far too long.  It is past time you settled down and remembered your responsibility to us." 

"Whims?  What 'whims' are you talking about, Grandfather?  And since when have any of you ever 'indulged' me in anything?" Sage demanded.  "For as long as I can remember, I've always been the one who's been judged and restricted and shoved into your idea of what a 'proper Japanese son' should be.  I had to fight you tooth and nail for every little bit of freedom I ever had, and even then I always had to make sure that nothing I did would bring shame or embarrassment to the great and noble Date name.  I graduated with honors from both high school and college, I've become well-respected in my field, I've won countless _kendo_ tournaments, I've never even gotten so much as a speeding ticket.  But none of that is good enough for you," he said bitterly.  "You've always demanded more from me, way more than you've ever demanded from Yayoi or Satsuki.  And now you think you can just order me to give up the woman I love and stick me into an arranged marriage?  _No_, Grandfather.  And that's final."

      "Are you giving me an ultimatum, Seiji?" Masuhiro replied threateningly.

"Stop calling me that!  My name is _Sage_!" Sage snapped.  He struggled to calm himself.  "And to answer your question, yes, I am.  You say that Carey disgraced the family.  But I warn you, Grandfather; if you try to marry me off against my will, 'disgrace' will be a kind way of describing what I'll do to this family's name.  This is _my_ life, not yours.  Stay the hell out of it."  Masuhiro's glare would have had most people cowering in fear, but Sage was too enraged to care.

      "Seiji, you try my patience.  You will do as you are told, or you will regret it." 

      "And what are you going to do?  I'm a grown man now, Grandfather.  You can't beat me or lock me in the basement anymore."

      "I can disown you," Masuhiro said coldly.  

      Once upon a time, that threat would have been enough to bring him to heel, Sage realized.  But now…He looked at his grandfather, and it was as if he was seeing the old man for the first time.  Why had he never noticed how cold, how utterly unloving and rigid the man was?  Would he, in time, have turned into that?  If not for Carey's faith and unswerving love…He took a deep breath, and a sense of calm strength settled over him.  "Yes, you can," he agreed quietly.  "And if you feel that that's what you have to do, then go ahead.  I'm sure Yayoi will lead the family well, probably better than I could --- after all, Yayoi doesn't have any bothersome human feelings to worry about.  She'll do exactly as you tell her, right down to the man she marries and how many children they have.  But I don't need this family to survive.  I think I've proved that pretty well by now." 

"Sage…" his mother spoke up for the first time.  Sage smiled sadly at her.

      "Mom, Dad…I love all of you, and I didn't want it to come to this," he said gently.  "But I've given all I can to this family.  It's time I lived my own life now."

      "You'd leave the family for a girl?" Megumi asked hesitantly.

"Not just a girl, Mother.  The woman I love, the only woman I've ever really loved.  And to be honest, this isn't even about Carey.  All my life, I've wanted to be my own person, to break out of the mold you all forced me into, but I was too afraid of being rejected.  It was just easier to play along.  But now I know that I can make it on my own, that I have something worthwhile to offer outside of my family name.  There are people out there who can appreciate me for who _I_ am, for what _I_ know and what I can do.  Carey just happens to be one of them."  He bowed politely to his parents and grandfather.  "_Oyasumi nasai, okaasan, otousan…ojii-sama._"

      He found Carey in the garden, sitting disconsolately on a bench beneath a willow tree, looking very small and alone.  She glanced at him for a moment, and even in the twilight he could see that she had been crying.  "I'm sorry," she murmured unhappily.  "I guess I blew it, didn't I?"

      "Shhh, baby, it's all right," Sage comforted her, gathering her into his arms.  She tried to pull away, but he just held her tightly.  "No, Carey, don't turn away from me, sweetheart.  It's okay."

      She wouldn't meet his eyes.  "I only wanted to make you proud of me, and instead I humiliated you in front of your whole family," she choked.  Sage's heart ached at the pain in her voice, and he knew what she must be thinking.  She had tried so hard to fit in, to show that she was worthy, and she had failed…again.

"Oh, Carey…look at me."  He caught her chin in his fingers and gently but firmly tilted her face up to his.  "You _did_ make me proud, darling, prouder than I've ever been in my life.  You behaved beautifully tonight, and I couldn't have asked any more of you."

      "Right up until your sister handed me that stupid picture," Carey muttered.

"Even then," Sage replied firmly.  He took a deep breath.  "Do you realize that you're the first person who has ever stood up to Yayoi like that for me?  She's made my life hell for years, but nobody has ever confronted her for the bully that she is --- not my friends, not my family.  But _you_ did, Carey…and you were magnificent," he said fiercely, his voice shaking with emotion.

      Carey didn't seem convinced.  "Your family must be furious, especially your grandfather."

      "They'll get over it," Sage told her, trying to sound more confident than he actually was.  "Come on, it's getting late.  We should head home."  Carey just nodded mutely and let him lead her to the car.  None of the Dates emerged from the house to see them off, Sage noticed, and he felt a surge of anger at his family's pettiness.  Not that he had expected them to come running out proclaiming the error of their ways, but still…it would have been nice to be proven wrong for once.  Carey noticed the absence too, and her shoulders drooped slightly.  The ride back to Sage's apartment was made in silence.

      As they prepared for bed, Sage finally spoke.  "It doesn't matter what they think," he said.

      "No," Carey agreed quietly, but her smile was sorrowful.  "It doesn't."  The words sounded hollow even to them.  They lay in the darkness, clinging desperately to one another.  It was a long time before either one of them could fall asleep.

~~~~

Sage didn't even look up from his computer when the knock sounded on his office door.  "Come in," he called.

      "Sage?"

      The voice jerked his head up, and he stared in disbelief at his visitor.  "Mother?  What are you doing here?"

      Megumi Date smiled hesitantly at her son.  "I came to see you.  I was hoping you would be free for lunch --- unless you're meeting Carey," she added tentatively.

      "What, you don't want to be seen with such an 'unsuitable' companion?" Sage shot back.

      "Actually, I just didn't want to intrude," Megumi replied patiently.  She paused.  "You're still angry about what happened the other night, aren't you?"

      Sage leaned back in his chair and fixed his mother with a cynical gaze.  "Because you treated my girlfriend like a pariah and Yayoi humiliated me with that damned picture and Grandfather threatened to disown me if I didn't agree to an arranged marriage?  Now what on earth makes you think I would be _angry_ about that, Mother?"

      "Because you only call me 'Mother' when you're unhappy," Megumi said wryly.  "Where is Carey, anyway?"

      "At the studios," Sage replied shortly.  "She's going to Seattle in a week to teach at a summer intensive, and she has a lot to do before then --- plus it gives her an excuse to avoid me," he added with resentment.  "Mom, I don't mean to be rude, but is there something you want?  I really am busy."

      Megumi stared at her son for a moment, then closed his office door firmly behind her and sat down.  "I think that answers my first question.  I also think that you and I need to have a good long talk."

      "Maybe later.  I happen to be working now.  Besides, you've already made your opinion of Carey pretty clear.  You can't possibly understand how I feel about her, and I'm tired of trying to convince you."

      "Are you so sure I don't understand?" Megumi demanded.  "You wouldn't even be here if I didn't."  She smiled wryly when Sage looked up at her.  "Sage, when I first started dating your father, I had my whole future planned out.  I was going to enjoy my romantic little fling with the handsome blonde American who had come to study at my family's dojo, but when it was over I would be a dutiful daughter and marry a good Japanese man that my parents chose for me, a man who would bring honor to the Date name and a good bloodline to our family tree.  I kept on telling myself that all throughout the months Jason and I dated, even though it was becoming increasingly unappealing, because I was of the Date and I would always put my family first.  But all that changed when Jason asked me to marry him."

      She had Sage's full attention now, and Megumi went on.  "Suddenly I was faced with a choice I had never thought I would have to make.  On the one hand, I wanted to be a good daughter and bring my family honor.  But I also had to face the fact that I loved Jason more than anything in the world and, under any other circumstances, would have accepted him immediately.  I knew that whatever I chose, someone was going to be unhappy; if I married Jason my parents would be displeased, but if I chose to make an arranged marriage I would hurt the man I loved.  I thought long and hard about it for a few days, but finally I knew what I had to do.

      "First I went to my father.  I told him that I loved him and Mother very much, and that I wanted to make them proud of me.  But if I had learned one thing from his training, it was that a true samurai --- a true _warrior_ --- stands by what he believes to be right.  He listens to that inner voice and holds firm to his convictions, even when others disapprove or don't understand.  I could do no less.  I told him that I respected his wisdom and the things he had taught me, and now it was time for me to live up to those teachings.  Then I went to _your_ father…and told him 'yes'." 

      Megumi smiled at her son.  "It wasn't an easy thing to do, and it took a while to mend the fences, but I've never regretted my decision, Sage.  I've been happily married for more than thirty years to a man I adore, and we have three beautiful children who have grown up to be good, wise, and strong adults.  No, dearest, I don't have any regrets."

      Sage had gone very still.  "Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"

      "Sage, you were right when you said we had always expected more from you than from your sisters.  You were also right when you said that you had tried so hard to give us what we expected, that you had never brought the family dishonor.  You have always made us proud, even though we didn't tell you that nearly as often as we should have.  But you are a man now, and it's time for us to let you choose your own path.  Do you love her?"

      Sage knew exactly what she was asking him.  "Yes," he said firmly.  "I love her."  He didn't elaborate --- he didn't have to.  Megumi Date nodded.

      "Do you remember when you were fifteen, and Shingo Kazamatsuri challenged you to a duel?  He cheated, but you had the courage to draw dishonor to yourself to protect him.  That was what Carey did the other night.  She risked your grandfather's wrath to defend you from Yayoi, and that took the same kind of courage.  You are a true warrior --- and so is she."  She gazed intently at Sage.  "Your grandfather has taught you many wise things over the years; now it's my turn.  Sage, real love isn't just passion or the heat of the moment.  Real love is waking up in the morning beside your lover and knowing that this is where you truly belong."  Sage's breath caught in his throat as Megumi went on, "Real love is feeling like you've found the other half of your soul, someone who accepts you just as you are, someone you would fight to the death to protect and who would do the same for you.  And if you're lucky enough to find that, reach out for it with both hands and hold fast to it, no matter what anyone else says…because if you let it get away you may never find it again."  

      Megumi rose to her feet.  "I've taken up enough of your time; I know you have a lot to do."  She kissed her son's cheek, then headed for the door.  At the door, however, she paused and looked back.  "Follow your heart, Sage," she said kindly.  "No matter where it leads you…follow your heart."

      Sage stared after her for a long while.  Then a smile began to blossom over his face.  Whistling softly to himself, he reached for the telephone directory and began to search through it.  He had a lot to do in the next few days, and he needed to get started.

   ~~~~

      Carey had been unusually subdued throughout the meal, but Sage chalked that up to overwork and nervousness over the impending Seattle trip.  The surprise he had planned for after dinner would be sure to cheer her up, he thought happily.

      Finally the meal was over.  Sage cleared the plates from the table and returned to his seat opposite Carey.  She didn't look at him but instead focused her attention on her wine, swirling the ruby liquid around in her glass as if seeking an answer in its depths, a pensive and, he thought, rather sad look on her lovely face.  "Carey," Sage urged gently.

      Carey started slightly, her amber eyes wide as her gaze met his.  "Sorry," she said after a moment.  "I guess I'm not very good company tonight, am I?  And you went to so much trouble to fix dinner."

      "It's all right.  You've got a lot on your mind, don't you?" Sage commiserrated.  "You've been running yourself ragged getting ready for Seattle, and then when you get back you'll have to start rehearsals for the new season --- you're going to be busy."

      "Yes," Carey agreed sadly.  "I am."

      "You know what?  You need something to cheer you up, and I think I have just the thing."  Sage fished a small box from his pocket and opened it, setting it on the table facing Carey.  Nestled among black velvet, the simple, graceful diamond solitaire sparkled under the light.  "Carey," Sage said softly, tenderly, "will you marry me?"

      He expected her to say something, to throw her arms around him, at least to smile.  She didn't move, just sat there staring at the ring, her beautiful hands limp on the tablecloth.  The silence stretched for several uncomfortable moments.  Then she spoke, in a voice so small and fragile he almost had to strain to hear it.  "Sage…I can't."

      Sage was taken aback by her lack of enthusiasm, but he wasn't about to give up that easily.  "Carey, I love you," he said earnestly.  "I want to spend the rest of my life with you.  I know it might not be easy --- we both work long hours, and you'll have to tour sometimes --- but I think we can make it work.  I at least want to try, Carey.  Will you marry me?"

      "I love you, too, but --- "  Carey took a deep breath and lifted her head.  A fine mist of tears shimmered in her eyes.  "Sage, you know I'm leaving for Seattle tomorrow."

      "Yeah, I know," Sage replied, perplexed.  "But I'm not saying we have to get married tomorrow, honey.  I can wait at least until you get back."

      "That's just it," Carey said.  Her tone was gentle and hesitant, as if someone had died.  "Sage…I don't think I'll be coming back."

      In an instant all the life seemed to have been sucked from the room.  The air around Sage felt heavy and suffocating, like the dust after the explosion of a bomb, and it was several moments before he could get his voice to work again.  "You're not coming back," he repeated numbly.

      "I've been on the phone with the directors of Pacific Northwest Ballet these last few days," Carey went on.  "One of their principals is retiring, but they don't really feel like any of the soloists are ready to move up yet.  They want to bring some new blood into the company.  They haven't made a formal offer yet, but Kent Stovall has strongly hinted that he'd like to bring me on board, and that my teaching at their intensive will be a sort of tryout.  I've only been a principal dancer for about a year, and I'm still a relative unknown outside of Japan.  For an internationally known company to take me on like this --- it's an incredible honor, Sage."

      "Yeah…yeah, it is, " Sage agreed dully.  "When were you going to tell me?"

      Carey lowered her gaze.  "Tonight," she said quietly.

      Sage closed his violet eyes briefly against the sudden, tight pain in his chest.  _I was planning to propose to her, and she was planning to tell me goodbye.  I wonder if it's possible to hear your own heart break._  When he opened them again, she was watching him, a look of deep sorrow in her eyes.  "Why?" he asked.

      Carey sighed deeply.  "Sage, you know I've never been truly happy here.  You're the only thing that ever really made it worthwhile."

      "But not worthwhile enough for you to stay," Sage said bitterly.

      "Oh, God, Sage, that's not true," Carey burst out.  Her eyes filled with tears, and she had to reach for her napkin to dab them away.  "If it were only you…but it's not."

      "You mean my family."

      "Yes, I mean your family."  Carey struggled to maintain some semblance of composure.  "Sage, I love you so much.  But I know how important your family is to you.  I can't ask you to turn your back on them for my sake."

      "Carey, my mother came to visit me a few days ago.  She gave us her blessing."

      "No, love.  She gave _you_ her blessing…to date me, not marry me.  And there's still the rest of your family to contend with."   

      "I don't care what they think, any of them," Sage said desperately.

      "Maybe not now.  But what's going to happen a year from now?  How will you feel five, ten years down the road, when you're cut off from your family, your home?  How will you feel when you have to miss Satsuki's wedding, or your parents' anniversary?  How will you explain to our children that they can't see their grandparents?  And even if they do let you back into the fold, they won't accept me.  Then you'll be torn between your family and me, and you'll wind up resenting both of us."

      Sage struggled against it, but he knew she was right.  His mother may have seen Carey as an acceptable lover for him, but would she accept her as his wife?  And his grandfather…his grandfather still ruled the family.  He would make Carey's life an unbelievable hell.  "So what do we do now?" he whispered.

      "We do the only thing we can…we go on," Carey said.  "What we had was something wonderful and truly special, and I'll never forget it.  But maybe it was too special to last."  A single tear rolled down her cheek.  "Kiss me goodbye and wish me luck, and go on with your life."

      Pain lanced across Sage's heart again.  "I can't see you off tomorrow.  It's hard enough saying goodbye to you once…I couldn't stand to do it twice," he said very softly.

      "I understand," Carey replied gently.  "I guess this will have to be our goodbye, then."  She walked over to where he sat and tenderly caressed his cheek, then leaned forward and kissed him softly on the mouth.  Sage looked up at her with drowning eyes for a heartbeat, then pulled her into his lap and kissed her fiercely.  They clung to each other with the desperation of lost souls, and Sage could taste the saltiness of tears on his lips.  He wasn't sure if they were hers or his own.

      Finally Carey ended the kiss.  She extricated herself reluctantly from Sage's arms and stood, gazing at him for a moment as if she were trying to memorize him.  "I love you," she whispered.  "I always will."

      "I love you, too," Sage whispered in return.  Carey turned to go, but as she placed her hand on the doorknob, Sage called out, "Carey."

      Carey turned to look back at him, her eyes large with barely restrained tears.  "Promise me something," Sage went on.  "Whatever roles you wind up dancing in Seattle --- Giselle, the Swan Queen, Sleeping Beauty, whatever --- promise me that you'll be the best one there ever was."  _Because it's the only way I can ever let you go._  "Will you do that for me?"

      Carey bit her lip and managed a tiny, brave smile.  "Yes," she replied softly.  "I promise I will…for you."  Then she was gone, and the door closed behind her with a quiet _click_.

      Sage just sat at the table for some time longer, feeling that if he moved he'd shatter into a million pieces.  The diamond ring sparkled mockingly at him, and he finally found the strength to reach over and close the box as carefully as if it would explode.  He got up and walked carefully into the living room, where he stood at the window and stared unseeingly out at the night.

_      I will get through this.  Somehow, I will._

~~~~

      The next morning, Sage was walking to work when he heard the sound of an airplane overhead.  He stopped in the middle of the street, ignoring the annoyed looks of passersby, and watched the huge plane as it glided across the sky, leaving a thin white contrail in its wake.  He gazed after it until he couldn't see it anymore.

_      Goodbye, my love.  Goodbye._

                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Terminology**

All the following terms are Japanese in origin.

_Shinai_: A bamboo sword used in _kendo._

_Men_: A protective head covering and grill-like mask.

_Koibito_: "sweetheart".

_Hajime_: "ready".  Used to indicate the beginning of a _kendo_ match.

_Onēsan_: "older sister".

_Otōto_: "little brother".

_Nihonjin_: Japanese (person).

_Ni-chan_: informal, "brother".

_Ojii-sama_: grandfather.

_Okaasan_: mother.

_Otousan_: father.

**Author's Note:**  Poor Sage! :-c  Well, I did warn you that it wouldn't be easy.  I know this chapter was rather long --- I had to cram all that angst in there somewhere.  So what happens next?  Well, you'll just have to read the next chapter to find out, won't you?


	5. Coda

Pas De Deux By Icewyche 

**Disclaimer:** _You guys know the drill by now._

Part Five: Coda 

      He was on autopilot and he knew it, but Sage couldn't seem to break through the numb haze that surrounded him in the wake of Carey's departure.  He got up in the morning, went to work, went home as he had always done, but with a sense of unreality, as if it were happening to someone else.  He ate because he had to, slept because he had to.  At night he would wake up to find himself reaching toward the side of the bed where she had slept, but he would find only emptiness and it would be a long time before he could fall asleep again.  His coworkers and friends asked him if anything was wrong, but Sage just murmured something about the flu and changed the subject.  He was vaguely surprised that they couldn't see the gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be.

      One night, almost two weeks after Carey had left him, Sage was startled by a knock on the door of his apartment.  For a moment he entertained a wild fantasy that Carey had changed her mind and come back, but he quickly and brutally squashed it.  _She's already made up her mind,_ he told himself firmly.  _Don't get your hopes up._  All the same, he couldn't help the faint flutter of anticipation in his chest as he opened the door.

      Rowen leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.  "Rowen, what are you doing here?" Sage demanded.

      "Checking on you," came the reply.  "Can I come in?"

      Sage nodded mutely and stood aside as Rowen walked past him into the apartment.  Rowen glanced briefly around, then turned his keen gaze on his friend.  "I'm not who you were hoping for, am I?" he asked suddenly.

      "Don't be silly, Rowen, you know you're always welcome here," Sage muttered, refusing to meet those piercing midnight eyes.  "Of course, you'd be even more welcome if you told me exactly _why_ you're here.  What's the matter, buddy, had enough of algorithms and drag coefficients?"

      Rowen's eyes held a gentle sympathy that cut to Sage's heart.  "She's not here, is she?" he queried softly.

      "She?  She who?"

      "Come on, Sage, let's not play games.  You've been looking like death warmed over lately, and don't tell me you had the flu.  Two weeks ago, you were the happiest guy on Earth, planning to propose to Carey.  Now I feel like I should be hiding sharp objects from you, and there's only one reason for that.  She turned you down, didn't she?"

      Sage collapsed into a chair, and the look in his violet eyes tore at Rowen's heart.  "Worse," he said heavily.  "She left me."

      Rowen's jaw dropped.  "_Left you?  Why?"_

      "She got a better offer."

      Rowen sat on the couch opposite Sage and stared at his friend.  "A better offer?  From who?  Was she seeing someone else?  I can't believe it."

      Sage rubbed his eyes.  "Pacific Northwest Ballet in Seattle is planning to offer her a principal position while she's teaching at their summer intensive.  What was I supposed to do, beg her not to go?  She's never really been happy in Japan, Rowen.  My family would make her life miserable.  And I can't ask her to give up everything she's worked for just to stay here and marry me.  I don't have that right."

      "So you just let her go?"

      Sage laughed bitterly.  "_Let_ her go?  I _told_ her to go.  How's that for devotion?  Sometimes I'm so damned noble I hate myself."

      Rowen just stared at him for several astounded moments.  Then he shook his head.  "Well," he said finally.  "I figured you two had broken up or something.  That's why I came over --- I thought I could at least try to help you over it."

      "Yeah?  How?"

      "Well, since neither one of us are big on talking…"  Rowen pulled a bottle from the bag he had brought with him and set it firmly on the coffee table.  "The time-honored guy cure for heartbreak --- we're going to get so drunk we don't remember our own names, much less hers.  Thank God it's a Saturday."

     "Rowen, I don't drink."

     "Neither do I.  But tonight we make an exception."

      Two hours later, they had finished off three-fourths of the bottle, and neither was feeling any pain.  Rowen was astonished at how Sage, who rarely managed anything stronger than an occasional glass of wine with dinner, was tossing back shots of tequila like a seasoned pro, two to every one of Rowen's.  "Ohhh, man…we should do this more often," Sage murmured vaguely.  He squinted at Rowen.  "You have a twin.  Did you know you have a twin?  He's right there," he added, waving an arm somewhere in Rowen's general direction.

      Rowen slouched in the corner of the sofa, a blurry smile on his face.  "We're a disgrace to the Ronin Warriors," he proclaimed solemnly.  "What would we do if Talpa showed up now?"

      "Invite him to join us --- he had woman problems, too, you know," Sage replied firmly.  He downed another shot of tequila and swayed dizzily in his chair.  "Ooohh…my head is fuzzy," he announced with delight.

      Rowen eyed Sage's unruly blonde hair.  "Sage, your head is _always fuzzy."_

      "No no no no," Sage explained with the odd dignity of the very drunk.  "Fuzzy _inside.  My thinkings is fuzzy.  Are fuzzy.  Whatever."  Sage reached to put his glass back on the table and slid out of his chair, landing on his backside with a thud.  He blinked in surprise for a moment, then leaned his head back against the seat and began to giggle wildly._

      "Sage, my friend, you are _stoned," Rowen told him, laughing helplessly._

      Sage gave him an angelic if rather unfocused smile.  "Am I really?  I've never been stoned before.  And you're resh… ress…it's your fault, you know."  He frowned suddenly.  "Wait, I can't be stoned --- I still remember my name.  At least I _think I do.  Oh, well, I'll know it when I hear it."  He giggled again._

      Rowen groaned and stood up rather unsteadily.  "Come on, old buddy, let's get you to bed before you start throwing furniture or something."

      "I can't throw anything.  I can't even stand up," Sage replied happily as Rowen hauled him to his feet.  "Where are we going?"

      "_We are not going anywhere.  _You_ are going to bed."_

      Sage perked up.  "Really?  With who?"

      "With nobody.  You are going to bed and you are going to sleep off about fourteen shots of tequila and you are going to behave."

      "Behave behave behave," Sage grumbled as he and Rowen staggered down the hall to his bedroom.  "That's all I ever do.  I'm always so proper and good and perfect.  I never get to be bad like everybody else."  A lost, unhappy look settled over his face as he turned to look at Rowen.  "Do you think she would have liked me better if I was bad?" he asked in a small voice.

      "I think she likes you just fine already," Rowen consoled him.

      "No, she doesn't," Sage pouted.  "That's why she wouldn't marry me and she went off and left me, remember?  Went off and left me so I could get wasted and spill my guts to you and sleep all by myself and I don't like sleeping all by myself, not anymore."  Rowen helped him over to his bed and Sage flopped onto the mattress with a heavy sigh.  "It's all my fault, though.  I let her go 'cause I thought her ballet was more important than us.  I'm so stupid," he finished mournfully.

      Rowen drew the blanket over his inebriated friend.  "Go to sleep, Sage," he said gently.

      Sage gave him a weary smile.  " 'To sleep, perchance to dream.'  That's what I'm afraid of."  He caught Rowen's hand.  "Rowen, don't drive home.  You're almost as drunk as I am.  With my luck you'd crash into a tree or something and then I'd be even more alone than I am now."  Another unhappy sigh escaped him.  "I don't want to be alone," he whispered sadly, and Rowen saw the lonely little boy that Sage had once been.

      "I'm not going to leave you, Sage," Rowen reassured him.  "I'll be in the living room.  Now get some rest.  You're not going to be alone, I promise."

      Sage nodded tiredly and closed his eyes.  Rowen waited until Sage was asleep, then turned out the light and went back into the living room.  He rinsed the glasses in the sink and put the nearly empty tequila bottle in the trash, then pulled a pillow and a blanket from the linen closet and made himself a bed on the couch.  He turned out the lights and lay down and eventually managed to fall into an uneasy slumber.

      Some time later, Rowen awoke with a start.  His instincts told him that something was wrong, but he wasn't sure what it was.  Struggling against the remnants of an alcohol-induced haze, he scanned the darkened living room, searching for the source of his unease.  As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw a figure silhouetted by the window.  Street lights gleamed faintly off tousled golden hair.  "Sage?" Rowen mumbled drowsily.

      Sage didn't answer, but kept gazing out at the night.  Rowen rubbed his eyes and got up, blinking away the last of his sleepiness.  "Sage, are you okay?" he asked gently.

      "I don't know why I keep doing this," Sage said quietly.  "Every day I tell myself that I'm fine, that I can get by without Carey, no problem --- and every night I wind up standing by the window just hoping that if I watch for her long enough, she'll come back.  But she's not going to come back, is she?"

      Rowen slipped an arm around his friend's slumped shoulders.  "Sage, she's in Seattle, she's not dead.  You can call her, you can write or e-mail her, or your work might even take you over there sometime.  But it's not as if you have to completely lose contact," he cajoled.

      Sage's forlorn expression didn't change.  "Rowen, I let her go.  I loved her more than I ever thought it was possible to love.  She was the first woman who saw me for who I really am and loved me anyway; I could be less than perfect with her and I knew it wouldn't matter.  I was willing to go against my family to marry her.  Hell, I would have laid down my _life_ for her.  And none of that changes the fact that when I had to make a choice, when I should have fought for her, _I let her go._  And the worst part is, I'm only just now realizing how monumentally stupid that was."

      Rowen was silent, unsure of what to say.  Sage went on, "I keep having these nightmares where I'm at work, or walking down the street, and suddenly I look down and I'm covered in blood.  There are all these people around me, but everyone is wearing a mask, and when I try to get their attention they force me to wear one too.  It hurts and I can't breathe and nobody can hear me through it, but I can't get it off no matter how hard I try.  And if I do manage to get the mask off, nobody will acknowledge me because I won't look like them.  I'm standing there mortally wounded, bleeding to death, screaming for help…and nobody hears."  He sighed deeply.  "That's what's happening, isn't it?  I have to wear my perfect little mask, to go about my business, to act like nothing's wrong, because that's what I've been trained to do --- and all the while I'm bleeding to death inside."  He finally turned to look at Rowen, and Rowen was shocked by the desolation in Sage's lavender eyes.  "Oh, God, Rowen, I miss her so damned much," he whispered.  Then something in him seemed to crumble and he buried his face in his hands and began to cry.

      Rowen steered his friend over to the couch and wrapped his arms around Sage in a fierce, protective hug, offering his own strength as the deep, heartrending sobs wracked Sage's body.  He had only seen Sage like this once before, when Sage had grieved over the death and destruction caused after the demon Shikaisen kidnapped him and stole his armor in New York.  Rowen realized that now Sage was mourning another kind of death --- the death of his most cherished dream, the love he had waited for all his life.  _And I can't even take the pain away,_ Rowen thought despairingly.  _All I can do is let him grieve…and be here for him while he does._

       After a while Sage's sobs faded to muted little hiccups, then finally stopped.  Rowen tenderly guided him back to bed and tucked him in as if Sage were a child.  He turned to leave, but was stopped by a quiet voice from the bed.  "Rowen."

      Rowen looked back at him.  Sage's eyes were red-rimmed and his voice tear-clogged, but the terrible bleakness was gone, replaced by a calm resolve.  "Thank you," Sage said.  "For being there…again."

      "You're going to be okay now," Rowen told him.

      Sage smiled wearily.  "For the first time, I actually believe that," he murmured.  Then his eyes closed and he fell into a deep, healing sleep.

~~~~~

      The days passed, and it got easier --- although Sage swore to himself that, one, he would never touch tequila again as long as he lived and, two, the next time Rowen offered to help him get over a breakup he would toss him out a window.  He found some solace in his work, in meditation, and in _kendo_ practice; the rest, he knew, would come in time.

      The phone rang one morning while Sage was thoroughly absorbed in appraisals for the gallery's newest acquisitions.  "Kazuhara Gallery, Sage Date speaking," he said automatically into the receiver.

      "Sage, it's Toshi Hamada," came the voice on the other end.  "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about a couple of _kendo_ tournaments I'm thinking about entering.  Could you meet me at the NBT studios today --- say, around four?"

      Sage checked his schedule.  "Well, I'm free then, but you know, if you really want to do this, you don't need to clear it with me."

      "Yeah, I know.  But I'm not sure which tournament would be more suitable for my skill level, and you're the most authoritative source I know.  Look, I know you're probably not too eager to hang around NBT," Toshiro said.  "I mean, you haven't been here since…since Carey left, and I know it's got to be hard for you.  But I have to make a decision tonight, and I won't be able to get away until late.  If it's too painful, for you, though, I understand," Toshi apologized.

      "No…no, it's okay."  Sage took a deep breath.  "I have to face this sometime, I guess.  Four o'clock at NBT --- where exactly should I meet you?" he asked briskly.

      "You sure?  I mean, I don't want to call up any bad memories or anything."

      Sage had to smile at that --- his memories of National Ballet Theater, he realized, were all good ones.  The dance lessons with Carey, watching her rehearse, their first kiss in Studio Four…He brought himself back to the present with a quick shake of his head.  "I'll be fine, Toshi," he replied firmly.

      "Okay, then.  Meet me in Studio Two --- I'll be finishing a rehearsal."

      Sage made a quick note.  "Studio Two, four o'clock.  Got it."

      "And Sage…thanks."

      "No problem.  See you then."  Sage said, smiling at the relief in Toshi's voice.  _He must really be serious about this,_ he mused.  Well, it was nice to see that kind of enthusiasm.  And besides, he couldn't just pretend that NBT didn't exist anymore.  He still enjoyed the ballet, and he saw no reason to give that up just because Carey had rejected his marriage proposal.  _If she can move on, then so can I._  He returned his attention to his work, feeling better than he had in weeks.

      At three-thirty, he gathered his things and prepared to leave.  "Are you sure you don't mind my leaving early?" he asked Matsuka.

      Matsuka shook her head with a smile.  "Sage, you've been staying late almost every night for the past month and a half.  Thanks to you, we're not only caught up but running ahead of schedule.  Go.  Get some fresh air.  Do something besides chain yourself to your desk all day.  The world will not end if you leave work a little early," she scolded, shooing him out of the office.  Sage chuckled ruefully to himself as he left, knowing Matsuka would probably physically toss him out if he didn't.

      The sunlight felt warm on his face for the first time in over a month, Sage realized with a slight feeling of surprise.  He rummaged in his briefcase for his sunglasses and his hand hit something small and square.  It was the box containing the engagement ring he had bought for Carey.  He drew it out and looked at it for the first time since that night, watching the diamond flash in the light, then gently closed the box and slipped it back in his briefcase.  _It's time to move on,_ he thought.  _I told her to go on with her life…now it's my turn to do the same.  She taught me at least that much.  _He looked over at his car, then at the people milling around, going about their business.  _Oh, what the hell._  He started to walk downtown, listening to the voices around him raised in anger, in excitement, in laughter, and he found himself smiling.  _The music of everyday life._   

      The ballet school was exactly as he remembered it.  Young girls in black leotards and bun hairdos milled around, chattering excitedly.  Two boys in white T-shirts limbered up against a wall.  A trio of somewhat older dancers walked down the hall, commiserating about the arduous task of breaking in pointe shoes.  A piano thumped in the distance and the air smelled like rosin, sweat, and institutional air freshener.  Sage looked at his watch.  He had fifteen minutes to spare, so he decided to watch Toshi's rehearsal from the observation hallway.

      The National Ballet Theater occupied a four-story building in the heart of downtown.  The top floor was occupied by the costume and administrative departments, and the huge main rehearsal hall took up most of the third floor.  The first-floor practice studios stretched up into the second story, so the second floor was really half a floor with offices and a lounge flanked by a hallway on either side.  Both halls had huge windows overlooking the studios, so that parents could watch a class or choreographers could observe a ballet in progress.  One side overlooked Studios One and Two, the other opened onto Studios Three and Four.

      Sage stood in the hallway that looked onto Studios One and Two.  A beginners' class was underway in Studio One; the tiny moppets in pink leotards brought a smile to Sage's lips as he watched them earnestly mimicking their teacher.  They didn't quite have the rhythm or coordination yet, but everyone had to start somewhere, Sage thought, recalling his own awkward first attempts at dancing.  He shook his head with a rueful grin and moved to the window overlooking Studio Two.

      There was only one dancer in Two, a slender, dark-haired young woman, and Sage wondered if Toshi had made a mistake or if his rehearsal had been moved.  But he still had time to kill, so Sage decided to watch the girl for a while.  And she was _good,_ he realized.  She whirled into a series of _chainés_, then _piquéd_ up into a beautiful high _arabesque._  _Tombé, glissade,_ into a _grand jeté_ that seemed to hang in midair forever. She moved with the music, understanding its every nuance, and Sage felt a gentle mist of tears come to his eyes.  _She reminds me of Carey, he thought. __That same daring, that same joy.  He shook his head, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.  __Why am I torturing myself like this?_

      The dancer turned, extending her right leg in a high, knife-sharp _developpé á la seconde.  Sage glimpsed her face for a moment --- and his heart stopped.  __No, he thought wildly.  __It can't be, it's just not possible.  He backed away from the window…and then he was running for the stairs.  He tore down the stairs at breakneck speed, ignoring the startled protests of some parents on their way up to watch their little darlings play ballerina, and didn't stop running until he had reached the door of Studio Two.  He skidded to a halt in the open doorway, afraid to look but even more afraid not to._

      The girl came down from a flawless _pirouette to face the mirror.  She looked up and froze at the sight of the wild-eyed blonde man reflected in the doorway behind her.  Sage saw the reflection of wide golden eyes, a delicate, pointed chin, full lips parted from surprise and exertion.  "Carey?" he exclaimed in disbelief._

      "Sage?" Carey echoed, sounding as startled as he was.  "What --- what are you doing here?"

      "I could ask you the same thing."  Was it his imagination, or did she sound a little guilty?

      "I was supposed to meet Toshi here to go over the sequences for _Flower Festival, but he's late," Carey explained, glancing at the clock over the door._

      "And he wanted me to meet him here to discuss a _kendo tournament," Sage replied, mentally making a note to kill Toshiro Hamada in the most prolonged and agonizing way possible.  "So…how was Seattle?" he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone light._

      Carey smiled.  "Kind of rainy, lots of Volvos and flannel shirts and Kurt Cobain wannabes, and a Starbucks on every corner.  Can people actually _drink that much coffee?"_

      "And the summer intensive?"

      "It went fine.  The dancers were great, my class was a big hit, and Kent Stovall offered me the principal's spot."

      Sage hadn't even known he had any hopes left until they crashed into rubble at her words.  "Well…that's great," he managed to say, pasting a smile on his face.  "I guess this means your career will really take off now, huh?  Dancing with one of the top ballet companies in the world --- you've got to be happy."

      "I turned him down."

      "Soon you really _will be a ballerina," Sage continued automatically.  "Today Seattle, tomorrow London or New York or Rome --- you __what?"_

      "I turned him down," Carey repeated.  "I decided to stay with NBT."

      Sage stood there frozen, gaping at Carey as if she had suddenly grown two more heads.  It took several moments before he could find his voice.  "Why?" he croaked.

      Carey sighed.  "Sage, Seattle was wonderful.  My friends took me to all sorts of interesting places, the dancers welcomed me with open arms, the staff treated me like I was visiting royalty.  I couldn't have asked for a better three weeks --- and yet I was miserable the whole time.  Still, I was ready to sign on with PNB if they asked; I figured I just needed to readjust to living in the States.  When Kent and Francia Russell sat me down and offered me that contract, I should have signed it right away.  But I couldn't."

      "Why?  Didn't they offer you enough?"  The words were unusually harsh and Sage regretted them as soon as they left his mouth, but Carey just smiled sadly.

      "Actually, they offered more than I could have hoped for, especially considering that I'm still relatively unknown outside of Japan," she replied.  "Kent was telling me how impressed he had been with me, how much he and Francia were looking forward to working with me.  Meanwhile I just sat there staring at that paper, knowing it would give my career the boost I'd always wanted, knowing that hundreds of dancers would kill for what was being handed to me, and still not being able to pick up that pen and sign my name.  Then Francia said that she knew it might take a little adjusting, but that I'd feel at home in no time, and that's when it hit me --- I would never really be at home in Seattle or anywhere else, and I was just kidding myself if I thought otherwise.  There was only one place in this world where I would ever truly be _home…and that was with you," Carey finished quietly._

      Sage just stared at her for several moments, torn between joy at what she was telling him and fury at the hell she had put him through.  "So what did you tell the people at Pacific Northwest?" he finally managed.

      Carey shrugged.  "I told them the truth.  I said that I appreciated all they had done for me, and that I was honored by their offer, but I couldn't accept it.  I told them that I made a horrible mistake when I left Japan --- I threw away the most precious gift I had ever been given, and no amount of international fame could ever replace that.  I had done the one thing I swore I would never do again; I had caved under pressure trying to please everyone else instead of standing strong and listening what I knew was right.  I had enjoyed working with them and hoped to have that chance again in the future, but now I had to go back home, back to where I _really belonged…and see if I could somehow make things right again."_

      "So --- what?  You think you can just walk back into my life, that we can pick up where we left off?" Sage demanded.  "How long have you been back, anyway?"

      "Almost three weeks," Carey answered ruefully.  "I was on that plane the minute summer intensive was over."

      "And when did you plan to tell me about your momentous discovery?"

      "As soon as I found both the courage and the words," Carey said.  "Sage, in case you haven't noticed by now, I have a great deal of courage in theory, but it's somewhat lacking in practice.  I know I hurt you badly, and I didn't want to make it worse.  Not to mention the fact that I was afraid you'd shut the door in my face the minute I showed up trying to explain."

      "Which I probably would have," Sage pointed out somewhat huffily.  "I asked you to marry me and you turned me down."

      "I know."

      "You were planning to stay in Seattle and you didn't even tell me until the last minute."

      "I know that, too."

      "I went through the worst six weeks of my life while you were trying to make up your mind about where you belonged," Sage ranted.  "And then you didn't even bother to tell me you were back --- you had _Toshi trick me into coming here."_

      "Now hold on there," Carey warned.  "I had nothing to do with this.  In fact, the next time I see him I fully intend to eviscerate Toshi for pulling this little stunt."  She hesitated.  "Sage, I caused you a lot of unnecessary pain and I'm sorry.  I know that doesn't even begin to make up for what I did, but I'm trying.  If you feel like you just can't trust me anymore, then I won't stop you from leaving --- hell, I really can't blame you if you do."

       She turned away for a moment, biting her lip.  Then she squared her shoulders and faced him, looking him straight in the eye.  "Look, I know I really don't have any right to ask you to forgive me, and I'm too damned proud to beg you to do that.  All I can say is that I was wrong and I'm sorry and I love you and I want to try again.  If that's not enough then tell me now and put us both out of our misery," she said, quietly but firmly.  "It's your choice."

       He was halfway tempted to walk out that door and never come back --- well, all right, he'd come back just long enough to murder that sneaky little son-of-a-bitch Hamada --- but something she had said stopped him.  _I threw away the most precious gift I had ever been given.  And finally it sank in, what she was trying to tell him.  __She's not going to dance in Seattle.  She turned them down__.  The chance of a dancer's lifetime, and she turned her back on it to come back to a place where she knows she's an outsider --- and she did it because of me.  And she did all this not even knowing if I'd take her back.  He felt his anger evaporate.  __She has the courage to admit that she was wrong.  Do I have the courage to accept that and trust her again…to reach out for love and hold fast to it this time?  I guess there's only one way to find out.  _

      Sage took a deep breath.  "You know it won't be easy," he warned.

      "Yes, I know. Your family doesn't like me too much and I will never be the perfect Japanese woman and our children would be --- I don't know, quarter-breeds or something.  But I've learned something from you --- that there are some things in this world that are worth fighting for, no matter what the cost.  And that it's easier to fight together than alone.  Besides, someone has to protect you from that bitch Yayoi."  

      Sage ignored that last remark.  "You really did hurt me," he said quietly.  Carey said nothing, just watched him with that intense golden gaze.  "But at least you've been honest with me, even if it took a little while.  I can't do any less.  God help me, Carey, I still love you and I have a feeling I always will.  If you're willing to try again, then so am I."

      The topaz eyes glistened, but Carey's expression remained solemn.  "Don't take me back out of pity or obligation, Sage."

      "I'm not," he replied.  "I'm taking you back because I love you and I can't live without you and I don't intend to let you get away from me again --- not even if I have to chain you to my wrist for the rest of our lives.  I want forever, Carey.  Do you think you can handle that?" he challenged.

      Carey lifted her chin.  "Try me."  They gazed at each other a moment longer --- and then suddenly she was in his arms and he was whirling her off her feet, laughing and crying at the same time, kissing her until they were both breathless and starry-eyed.

      Finally Sage came up for air.  "Hold on a minute," he said.  "I have something for you."  He searched through his briefcase for a moment, then returned to where she stood eyeing him curiously.  He took her hand and slipped the engagement ring onto her finger.

      Carey stared at the diamond as it flashed under the studio lights.  Her eyes welled with tears as she looked up at Sage.  "Sage…are you sure?" she whispered.

      Sage's answering smile lit the room. "I'm sure.  Besides, it looks better on you anyway," he added lightly.  "But just so we're clear --- will you be my wife, Carey?  For better or for worse, as long as we both shall live, and all that?"

       Carey tenderly brushed Sage's golden hair out of his eyes.  "At least that long," she agreed, and Sage gathered her into his embrace. 

      _…And they lived happily ever after._

                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Terminology 

_Chainés: (sh-NAYZ) French, meaning "chains" or "links".  A series of rapid turns on pointe or demi-pointe, done in either a straight line or a circle.                            _

 _Piqué: (pee-KAY) French, meaning "pricked".  The dancer steps directly onto pointe or demi-pointe of the working foot with the other foot raised into the air._

_Tombé: (tawm-BAY) French, "falling".  A movement in which the dancer, with the working leg raised in the air, falls forward, backward, or sideways into a __fondu (see Part 3) on the working leg._

_Developpé á la seconde:  See notes for Part 3 on __developpé.  Á la seconde means that the leg is extended out to the side (second position)._

_Kent Stovall and Francia Russell: the Artistic Directors of Pacific Northwest Ballet.  Their names are used for historical purposes only and do not imply any endorsement of or cooperation with this story. _

_Source: Technical Manual and Dictionary of Classical Ballet by Gail Grant._

**Author's Note:**  Okay, I know…I'm a hopeless romantic, not to mention a sucker for a happy ending.  Sue me.

     Well, gang, that concludes Pas De Deux.  Hope you enjoyed it (and _mille mercis to all who told me so).  But don't worry, the saga of the Ronin and the ballerina isn't over yet.  Soon I'll be bringing you Heart Of Darkness, a mystery/adventure fic that involves not only my favorite couple, but the rest of the Ronin gang as well.  And to whet your appetite, here's a little teaser: It's seven years after the events of the Message OVA, and the armors have been put aside.  The Ronin Warriors are grown up and living normal lives as they gather for Sage and Carey's wedding.  But there's a new evil about to be unleashed…and it wears a very familiar face (no, it's not who you think).  And if the guys thought demonbusting was hard when they were teenagers --- try doing it when you have to juggle a full-time job, a home life, __and wedding preparations!  Curious yet?  Heart Of Darkness…coming soon from yours truly! *[^  _


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